


Outward Honour for Inward Toil

by abracadora (killjoycatlady)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14458515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoycatlady/pseuds/abracadora
Summary: As the rival nations of Márea and Altea form an alliance after years of tension and border issues, Prince Lance is forced to deal with a treaty that is far too involved in his personal life, an infuriating Altean knight surrounded by shady rumours, and the rising threat of the Galra empire closing in on Lance's kingdom.





	Outward Honour for Inward Toil

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Safe Klance Writers Network's minibang 2018!
> 
> I was paired with two artists, cheritsundere and cimderslla (I will link their art at the end of the fic)
> 
> Enjoy!

Lance is undeniably eager when he peeks through his bedroom window and sees the dark smudge against the horizon line that is a team of Máreaan horses, pulling a gleaming carriage in tow. This signals his sister’s arrival from her foreign affairs, and he’s undeniably eager to hear the news.

“Hunk,” he says excitedly, and prods at his best friend who sits, curled on a low-lying couch, nose buried in a gilded book of fairy tales. “Unless, I’m mistaken, Ramira’s returned.”

Hunk looks up and peers out of the window next to Lance. “Unless I’m mistaken, I think you’re right. Should we head down to greet her, or let her speak about the private matters in private?” Hunk raises a single eyebrow, and it’s clear to Lance what Hunk believes is the better idea.

“Oh, dear friend.” Lance claps Hunk on the shoulder and grins. “You’re an admirable advisor, but you need to loosen up! Come, we must try and meet her as _soon as possible_.” Lance ends the sentence with pointed emphasis, though he doesn’t pretend that his words carry any true command; Hunk is far too familiar and far too flippant with him for that to work anymore.

“Yes, my Prince,” Hunk says dryly. He closes the book neatly, placing one of the bookmarks that Lance never bothers to use in between the pages, and sets it delicately on the window sill. “When have ever I denied your request.”

“Hurry,” Lance urges. He doesn’t bother to put on a jacket or coat and settles for buttoning up his shirt. Hunk takes no such leisure and securely fastens the laces of his sunny yellow coat before following along as Lance marches resolutely out the door.

The reason he makes such haste to catch his sister before anyone else is simply because her special meeting is meant to be kept quiet. Ramira, the second child of the royal family, is the official foreign ambassador of Márea, and just days ago, she left the kingdom to travel to a location that wasn’t disclosed to Lance, who is apparently unqualified to know such top level matters while he’s still in training.

But no matter.

He knows where Ramira has been: their neighboring kingdom, Altea. This hasn’t been the first time he’s eavesdropped to find out classified information, and it almost definitely won’t be the last.

In recent months, as threats from other kingdoms have increased, Márea has nurtured the idea of forming an alliance with their closest neighbors. This is a difficult concept to put into motion, mostly due to the tense history between the two kingdoms from petty skirmishes and trade disagreements. Unfortunately, the current atmosphere seems to be enough for Márea to reach out to Altea.

Lance figures that Ramira was there to discuss a possible meeting, maybe even something unassuming like inviting the leaders of Altea for dinner and castle festivities. He speeds up his pace as he and Hunk wind through the castle halls, determined to be included in the discussions.  

They arrive at the front doors just as Ramira is stepping out of the carriage, dressed in her plain, dark travel clothes. Lance’s mother, Queen Reina, stands at the edge of the marble stairs, watching quietly as Ramira is escorted by the guards up the steps and towards the doors. Lance’s eldest sister, Juliana, stands next to her.

“Welcome back,” his mother says warmly, taking a single step forward to greet Ramira. His mother puts her hand to Ramira’s shoulder and Ramira puts her hand to their mother’s waist, and they embrace with minimal contact and a simple cheek-to-cheek kiss. Ramira does the same with Juliana. Their proper, affectionate exchange will have to wait until later, in the privacy of their rooms- right now, they keep up appearances in front of the guards.

“Hello, Lance.” Ramira floats past their mother and sister and greets Lance the same way. Out of courtesy, Lance gives her a slight bow, and takes satisfaction in the way her lips quirk up from amusement.

“Princess,” Hunk says politely, though not unkindly, and he bows much lower than Lance, an indication of her authority.

Ramira smiles properly and reaches out a hand to tousle Hunk’s well-styled hair. If he were anyone else, their mother and Juliana would look scandalized, but Hunk is well-known amongst everyone in the castle as practically the fourth child of the royal family.

“Your father is in the meeting room,” Lance’s mother says, walking so that she stands level with Ramira. “Perhaps we should…” Her eyes slide over Hunk, then Lance, and Lance feels the familiar flash of irritation when he knows that she’s about to order him to leave.

“Let me stay for the meeting,” he says insistently.

The Queen hesitates. “Lance…”

“Please.” He stiffens his back, posture and face straight. “Let me be included.”

“It’s fine,” Ramira says. She shrugs her black jacket off, revealing the gray waistcoat she wears underneath. The Queen’s eyes cut to her, but she says nothing. “Let Lance stay, it’ll give him experience. He can’t learn these things if he isn’t exposed to him.”

Lance gives Ramira a grateful look as his mother sighs and says, “Very well. Let’s hurry to the meeting room.”

The meeting room they go to is not the large, high-ceilinged one that Lance’s parents use to discuss matters with all their top generals and advisors. Instead, they go to a place that’s more like a lounge, with comfortable seats placed around and oblong table, and silver platters of biscuits placed in the center.

Lance reaches for a sugared biscuit without second thought. Hunk gives him a reproachful look that screams “ _behave like a Prince_ ” before Lance hands him a biscuit and Hunk rolls his eyes, giving in.

At the very head of the table sits Lance’s father: King Julio II, King of Márea. He’s broad-shouldered and gruff looking, with an impressive moustache and coal black hair. If Lance hadn’t known him since childhood, he would be intimidated.

Lance’s mother appears kinder, with soft brown hair and deep blue eyes like Lance’s, and she certainly is kind, but Lance knows to be alert around her. She’s the Queen, but more so she’s his mother, and that means she’s perceptive enough to pick up the slightest bit of mischief. She takes a seat to the King’s right, sharp eyes sweeping over the table. Juliana takes the seat to their father’s left, and Ramira sits next to her.

Nobody questions Hunk when he sits next to Lance, at the farthest end of the table. There are only a handful of others who are not part of the family, and none of them seem to be under the age of 50- all royal advisors and veterans of the Court or military.

“Lance and Hunk will be joining the meeting,” Lance’s mother whispers to the King. He gives a short nod and then leans forward, folding his hands together on the table.

“Very well,” he says. His voice, although quiet, is steady, and his words command respect no matter how brief they are. “As you all know- or may not know,” he amends, addressing Lance and Hunk. “Ramira has returned from her meeting in Altea.”

Lance exchanged a triumphant glance with Hunk.

“I’ll try to keep this talk short, so we can move forward with our plans.” He nods at Ramira. “You may give your report.”

Ramira takes a deep breath and smiles. Her shoulders are straight, confident, not betraying a hint of nerves. “As you all know, tensions have been running high, with the rising of the Galra kingdom.” She pauses, as many of the council members frown. “Fortunately for us, this seems to be a similar case in Altea.”

“They are rather private with their kingdom’s state, naturally, but from what I could glean from the conversations, the Galra are their main concerns. They seemed to be willing to do whatever it takes to stop the enemy forces from pressing closer to their borders. Including-” Ramira takes a pause, likely for a dramatic effect. “-cooperating with us.”

Juliana leans forward. “Meaning?”

Ramira smiles, and it’s sharp, victorious. “I persuaded them to attend treaty talks.”

Lance’s jaw drops. Altea has never been opposed to forming alliances, but Márea is the kingdom that they have had disputes with for long before Lance was even a thought in his parents’ minds. After the last, rather brutal skirmish over a piece of river territory a few years ago- which Márea won, to everyone’s surprise- Altea has been stubbornly resistant to any sort of peacemaking between the kingdoms. For Altea to give in after a single meeting with a single ambassador, they must be desperate.

Lance briefly wonders if the situation with the Galra is worse than it seems.

“Have they said when they would like to host the talks?” the Queen asks, her voice careful and considering.

“They didn’t specify,” Ramira answers, “They mentioned shortly that they would have it sooner rather than later, but there were no demands of specific timing.”

“Good,” the King’s personal advisor speaks up. “This means that we can set the terms of the meeting ourselves.”

“Preferably, we should have it in Márea,” Juliana cuts in. “A show of strength would benefit us.”

They turn, through some unanimous decision, to the King, watching as he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “We need a few weeks to properly decide our terms for the treaty,” he says after a pause. “We should also arrange festivities of a sort, to show off our kingdom as a whole, not just military. However, we should not push it for too long, or we risk them setting the terms of our meeting, or, worse, the Galra attacking before there is any sort of external support.” Another pause. “Expect to meet with the Alteans in a month’s time.”

The council murmurs assent.

The King sends a sweeping gaze over them. “This meeting has concluded. You are dismissed.”

Everyone except the King and Queen rise (no doubt they are planning to have further discussions). Lance considers offering to walk Ramira to her room, as a gesture of kindness and maybe to question her further and see if she divulges any details, but he dismisses that idea in favour of turning towards Hunk and gesturing excitedly.

“That was interesting!” he exclaims. “I would never have believed that we would meet with Altea, of all kingdoms, for a treaty. Do you think that trade compromise will be brought up?”

“Are you sure you’re meant to be talking about all this in public?” Hunk asks with amusement, as they walk through an empty hallway (really, a guard should be stationed here, but Lance won’t be the one to snitch). “I hope it will. Although I’m not sure if Altea would agree, they’ve always been stingy about that route. Do you think Altea will have a show of arms?” Hunk is silent for a moment. “Do you think they’ll show us any of their technology? Or do you think they’d be willing to share even a slice of information?”

“I don’t think a show of arms on foreign soil is very proper,” Lance muses, “And aren’t they very secretive about all that stuff?”

When Hunk deflates, he adds, “They would probably willing to show you something in the name of bolstering their reputation. Although I wonder if they will send anyone who’s willing to teach you. Do you think we could visit the stables? I haven’t gone riding in far too long.”

“Let’s go,” Hunk agrees. “Even I can’t return to my studies so soon, ugh. My tutor has been impossibly harsh of late.”

“Don’t even mention tutors,” Lance cries dramatically, throwing his arm over his eyes. “I need fresh air.”

Hunk snorts in amusement, and says , “Let’s hurry before the sun goes down.”

 

The month passes by with increasing tension as the date of the Altean arrival is set and draws closer and closer with each passing day. The kingdom scrambles to prepare itself- the arrival of a foreign delegation, especially for something so significant as this, is always a big deal- and in that month, Lance’s parents are apparently determined to have Lance learn the thorough and detailed history of Altea and Altean-Máreaan politics in a span of about 28 days.

It will likely be worth it once the formal discussions start. Perhaps. It likely means that his parents will let him hear in, maybe even give his opinions, on the negotiations. Perhaps. Even so, he finds it difficult to concentrate on the rather boring reading, and ends up on multiple occasions tossing crackers at Hunk instead.

Then comes the day of arrival. Energy buzzes underneath Lance’s skin and he practically vibrates, he’s shaking his leg so hard.

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk says for the umpteenth time. “Are you nervous? You have no reason to be.”

“Of course, I’m not nervous,” Lance says nervously. “It’s merely the entirety of Altean royalty and their most important generals and ambassadors that will arrive within four hours to judge my whole kingdom. Who would be nervous?”

“You need to get ready,” is all Hunk says. Lance groans and throws himself back on the couch.

He does enjoy dressing up, however much nervous he may be. Although he considers himself to be more than proficient in the art of cleaning himself up, his mother sends two stylists to prepare him (and by association, Hunk).

Márea’s royal colours are indigo, gold, and green, and Lance’s outfit is meant to represent that. He dons a blue velvet coat with black pants and a black belt. He wears a sash that contrasts the jacket with bright gold, and embroidery along the jacket cuffs are forest green. His hair is combed down with copious amounts of gel, and the only reason Hunk doesn’t tease him for it is because they’re in front of the stylists.

Hunk is dressed similarly, but in a yellow-gold with white pants and without the sash.

The final touch to Lance’s appearance is his crown. He never wears it on a regular basis because it’s rather uncomfortable, but it’s a simple circlet of gold that rests lightly atop his head. Three small pearls gleam in the overhead light and he feels his chest swell in pride. This is it. This is his appearance as the Prince of Márea.

“We need to arrive at the front of the palace shortly,” Hunk points out as Lance frowns into a mirror, lightly running a hand against the side of his hair.

“Do I look presentable?” Lance asks in lieu of an answer, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

Hunk sighs as steps up to Lance. “You’ll be fine, Lance. You’ve trained for this moment since you were as young as eight. You’re ready.”

Lance takes a deep breath. “I hope you’re right.”

“I always am,” Hunk says encouragingly. “Let us go.”

Unlike Ramira’s arrival, there is a much larger crowd, gathered in the front hall rather than the front steps. Two rows of eight guards line the front doors, dressed impeccably in their most elaborate uniform.

Standing in the hall are an assortment of high ranking generals, trusted advisors and secretaries, and the royal family.

Lance catches a glimpse of a green dress worn by someone of a short stature, and he grins.

“Pidge,” he calls, and strides over to where a slightly-younger woman stands, rocking back and forth on her white heels awkwardly. “Hello! I wasn’t aware that you would be here.”

“Why are you here?” Hunk asks, although he smiles widely. “I was under the impression that only, ah, higher ranking figures would attend the arrival.”

“That’s true,” Pidge agrees, “However-” She’s cut off by the harmony of trumpets erupting through the air.

From the front gates rolls a carriage, three times the size of the one Ramira travelled in. It’s pulled by two grand, white horses, but Lance knows that the horses are merely there for show- the real power of the carriage comes from the blue glow underneath, where he knows that thrusters sit, allowing the carriage to hover gently a few feet above the ground.

The trumpets’ song continues for the duration until the carriage parks at the base of the staircase. Lance’s mother gestures at him, and he and Hunk move up to get a better view,

The first four people that step out are guards, and they stand to either side of the carriage door in rows of two, arms lifted in a salute. The next two people who emerge are wizened elders, likely advisors to the monarchs, and they proceed up the stairs quietly, chins held high in confidence.

The next person is someone that looks vaguely familiar, with sandy brown hair and wiry glasses. He has a crooked but subdued smile and he walks more casually. He isn’t wearing clothes of royalty, so Lance wonders exactly who he is.

He doesn’t have time to ponder, though, because the next person walks out of the carriage. He looks young, not much older than Lance, with jet black hair and a mouth set in a hard line. He’s in uniform, and gives the four guards a brief nod, confirming Lance’s suspicions: he’s part of the Altean military.

Lance recognizes the next person to exit the carriage. This is the Captain of Royal Guard, Sir Shirogane, and he walks with his head held high. His eyes visibly scan the surroundings, and it’s no surprise why, because the next person to make an appearance is the King.

The King of Altea is known to be somewhat of a character, with his bright orange moustache and knack for lengthy anecdotes. Lance knows from his studies that thing King is really only the head of state on paper- the real ruling is done by the next person to leave the carriage.

Lance’s first thought is that she’s beautiful. His second is that she looks twice as lethal as anyone in the Máreaan military.

Princess Allura is tall and regal, dressed in white and turquoise robes with delicate gold jewelry adorning her hair and neck. Her electric blue gaze pierces through whoever she looks at, and the sharp contrast between her dark skin and pale, moonlight hair makes her seem ethereal.

“They’re quite intense,” Hunk mutters, and Lance hums in accordance.

Princess Allura climbs up the stairs with an elegant grace, and she only stops when she’s in front of the King. Her eyes slice through everyone in the hall.

Then, she smiles. “King Julio II of Márea. It’s a pleasure.”

“Princess Allura, welcome,” Lance’s father replies gruffly. They bow simultaneously, and that’s the cue for the rest (sans the Queen) to lower themselves onto their knees and place a fist over their hearts in salute.

Princess Allura straightens up. “Please rise,” she says, and turns back to the King. “We look forward to your hospitality.”

“Of course,” the King answers. His words are calm, but Lance can see the faint tension at the corners of his eyes.

They begin to sort out with the Princess where everyone will be staying, and, seeing that his presence is no longer needed, Lance decides to slip away. He briefly glances around for Pidge, but she’s disappeared into the throng of people surrounding the new arrivals; Lance mentions this to Hunk, but he shrugs and says that he doesn’t know.

“She just vanished,” Lance hisses as they head back to Lance’s room. “Why was she there in the first place?”

“We can ask her later,” Hunk reasons. He glances at his watch- it’s the one Lance bought him for his birthday, almost two years ago. “The festivities start in three hours. We ought to change into more comfortable clothes.”

“Then what was the point of dressing up for such a short meeting?” Lance complains.

“If you don’t want to change, you can simply drop out of the the competitions.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I _will_ win the archery medal,” Lance retorts. “But changing exhausts me.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hunk answers, and Lance wonders how his companion is able to make the title sound so sarcastic.

 

In Márea, competitions are a show of friendliness and goodwill. They are meant to involve lighthearted rivalries and bets on who would win the highest number of points.

Clearly, in Altea, it’s slightly different.

The Alteans, for lack of a better word, treat competitions like every challenge is the highest challenge to their pride. They have an intimidating presence, and Lance can only hope that the Márean soldiers get the memo and intimidate them back.

The treaty talks are a show of peace, but clearly, the competitions will not be.

Lance himself has signed up for three: archery, shooting, and horseback riding. Those are what he considers to be his finest skills, and he’s determined to win them all.

The archery competition is the third event of the day, and he has to sprint all the way from the heavyweight wrestling rink (where Hunk won first place, to Lance’s radiant pride) to the archery range, which happens to be at the opposite end of the field.

The competitions are taking place on the wide field behind the palace, with large sections roped off for the different activities. People, citizens of Márea and soldiers alike, wander from competition to competition, either participating or cheering in glee whenever their own kingdom wins.

Lance is royalty, and therefore given the middle lane. He has his own bow clutched in one hand. Hunk stands behind him for moral support.

He takes a deep breath. “I need to compose myself,” he speaks, mostly to himself.

“You’ll perform amazingly,” Hunk reassures him. “Although, and I don’t want to make you nervous, but the Princess is watching and you need to be in your best shape.”

Lance’s gaze cuts towards the stands, where, sure enough, Princess Allura sits, in the box reserved for important figures. Her eyes wander over the range; for a brief moment, her electric blue eyes meet Lance’s ocean blue ones, and he glances away.

“Thanks for lessening the pressure,” he says sourly. Hunk pats his shoulder and then slides away with words of “trying to get a seat to watch from”.

The whistle blows to signal the start of the competition. Lance inhales deeply and lifts his bow.

He trains it to the center of the bullseye, labelled 10 for the number of points it earns, and draws the taut wire back. Then, he releases.

_Thwack_

The crowd roars as the arrow quivers, neatly lodged in between the 1 and 0. A grin splits across Lance’s face, but he doesn’t raise his fist in victory yet. He has two more shots to go.

He draws the string back, and _thwack_ _._

The arrow skims through the air and lands in the circle of the same 0.

Another ten points earned. Lance whoops, and the crowd goes wild.

He points the final arrow towards the bullseye, aims, and let’s the last one fly.

 _Thwack_ _._

“Prince Lance of Márea has won a perfect thirty points!” the moderator cries, and Lance pumps his fist into the air, prompting the crowd to scream their heads off.

Lance glances towards the stands, and catches Princess Allura watching him with a contemplative look on her face. She’s nodding, despite the disgruntled expressions of the Altean competitors, and Lance frowns.

He doesn’t ponder for too long, though, because he’s hustled towards the podium and given a shiny, golden medal and many congratulations, which he basks in like a cat in the sun.

He and Hunk move on to the shooting competition, which is next, and Lance ends up breezing by the competition with a score just short of perfect. He wonders if he has a slight advantage in the traditional guns they use, as Alteans tend to prefer laser guns instead of actual bullets, but Hunk gives him a look when he suggests that, and he decides to just accept the second golden medal.

He’s just stepping out of the shooting range when the crowd parts around him, and a tall, regal figure steps forward, eyes trained on him.

“Greetings, Prince Lance,” Princess Allura says, her accent making his name flow like water. “And greetings, ah, forgive me…”

“Hunk,” Hunk supplies, looking mildly surprised. The ruder, older officials tend not to acknowledge Lance’s personal advisor, and Lance is glad that the Princess is not one of those people. “Greetings, Your Highness.”

“Princess,” Lance greets, bowing slightly. He straightens up. “May I assist you in anything?”

“Not at all,” she answers, “I merely wanted to congratulate you on your last two wins. We weren’t told that you were such a skilled marksman.”

The words ‘ _we weren’t told’_ makes Lance chest sting, but nevertheless he smiles in pride. “Thank you, Princess. I wasn’t aware that you were watching.”

“It’s beneficial to see the strengths of our allies.” The Princess shrugs.

Lance exchanges a glance with Hunk. The words don’t sound like lies, exactly, but somehow they feel like an incomplete truth.

“Anyway,” the Princess continues, “I wanted to ask if you would like to accompany me to the sword fighting competition that’s going on now.”

“Ah,” Lance says. “The Princess Allura wants to grace me with her company?” He sends her his best smile, not in an attempt to woo her like he has done with people in the past, but to appear welcoming and represent his kingdom.

She smiles serenely, and Lance gets the impression that she doesn’t want to hear “no” for an answer. “I insist.”

“I would be honoured,” Lance says. “Let’s go, Hunk.”

They head to the fighting rink together. It’s built as a low stadium dug into the ground, with a circle just 50 feet in diameter. They slip inside and head to the prime seats reserved for royalty, overlooking the rink so that they can perfectly monitor the current fighters.

“And now, we witness the final round of the sword fight,” the moderator announces, “These two have fought their way up to this final battle, and here we will decide the winner.”

The moderator goes on to announce the names of the individuals, but Lance’s attention gets taken by Princess Allura, who speaks just loud enough that he can hear her over the microphone.

“That man over there-” She points towards the fighter at the left side of the rink, the one who’s smaller and shorter than the Máreaan fighter. “That’s Sir Kogane. He’s the leader of our cavalry.”

“A knight,” Lance remarks. Knights are only given their title if they are someone trusted by the monarchs- it ensures that Lance will pay attention to this Sir Kogane in this fight.

A shrill whistle trills to signal the start of the fight. Much to Lance’s surprise (he’s not really a swordsman but he has an inkling of the strategy), Sir Kogane darts forward, arcing his sword over the opponent’s chest. The Máreaan soldier (for he is a soldier, Lance remembers his face from a few interactions) parries the strike easily and moves to jab at Sir Kogane. Sir Kogane whirls around and swings his blade at the soldier’s thigh.

Lance watches in bated awe. Sir Kogane’s moves are captivating; his movements are fluid, light and smooth, and yet they carry an intensity to them, a force and fire that’s practically reckless; he fights as if he’s a dancer and his blade is his ribbon.

“Wow,” Hunk breathes, echoing Lance’s thoughts. “He’s…good.”

“He’s our best,” Princess Allura says with no small degree of pride.

With a quick strike like a viper, Sir Kogane knocks the opponent’s sword out of his hand and twirls to land another blow. The blade glance’s off the soldier’s armour, but the force if it sends him to the ground, and the soldier ends up with the gleaming sword point rested at the base of his throat.

“And the winner is Sir Kogane of Altea!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, even though Sir Kogane is an outsider. Lance can’t blame them, as he finds himself applauding as well.

He turns to Princess Allura. “I would love to stay and congratulate the victor, Princess, but I have a horse race to attend, and it would look terrible on my part if I were to be late.”

The Princess’ eyes twinkle and she does not look annoyed in the slightest. “Ah, are you competing? I understand. I may decide to watch, should it strike my fancy. Good luck.”

Her _‘good luck’_ sounds amused, and Lance does not understand why in the slightest. Instead, he tugs on Hunk’s sleeve and says, “Come, Hunk, we shouldn’t be late. We should see each other soon, Princess.”

“Goodbye, Your Highness,” Hunk says to her politely. They start to walk away, and he says to Lance, “You should consider not pulling on my sleeve, Lance, or you’ll stretch it out.”

“Sorry,” Lance says hastily. “I’m quite nervous for this next one. It would be embarrassing if I lose, would it not?”

“Not necessarily.” Hunk shrugs. “But I have faith in you, somehow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance asks, and they both laugh.

 

He changes into his riding clothes and heads to the stables, where the horse he’s deigned to ride awaits.

Lance’s horse is a beautiful palomino with a sturdy build and a gleaming coat. She carries a special place in his heart; just a few years ago, she was a feeble foal with unsteady legs and a low prospect of success. She’s Lance’s pride and joy.

“Hey, Bella,” he murmurs, rubbing her neck. She whinnies softly in response. “Ready to go out there?”

The handlers guide her to the starting point of the race and then hand her to Lance, who mounts her with grace. He grips her reins as she clops back and forth impatiently.

He’s competing against ten other riders, from both Márea and Altea. The rider next to him is dressed in all black, a dark scarf covering his face from site. The only mark that he’s from Altea is the Altean coat of arms, stitched onto the sleeve of his shirt. His horse is pure black and much smaller than Bella, and Lance hopes that gives him an advantage in the race.

Even if it doesn’t, Lance intends to win.

The moderator steps forward with a flag in his hands. “Riders, get ready. Three…two…” _Swoosh_ , he slices the flag through the air. “One!”

A whistle rings in Lance’s ears and the horses burst forward in movement. Lance keeps himself steady as he urges Bella on, feeling a gleam of satisfaction as the other riders start to fall behind.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, a dark spot emerges, and Lance notices in horror as a black horse begins to pull forward, edging just past Lance. Lance grits his teeth and grips the reins tighter, flicking them and pushing Bella faster.

The thunder of hoofs fills his ears, and his eyes train on the bright-red finish line, steadily approaching the two riders that stay within a few inches of each other. The black horse draws ahead and Lance growls in frustration.

In a heartbeat, they’re over the finish line, and Bella saunters to a stop, unaffected by the clouds of dust pooling in the air. Lance’s ears are filled with static, but through the buzz he hears the winner get called.

“In first place is Sir Keith Kogane of Altea, winning by just a tiny margin!”

 

Frustration grips his heart. He had trained so much for this race, with the best horse riders in Márea, and here he was, being beaten by some foreigner from Altea-

“Lance.” Hunk’s voice cuts through his steadily more deprecating thoughts. He blinks his eyes open and coughs.

“Yeah, Hunk?” He gives a weak smile. Hunk sees right through it, and tugs on Lance’s sleeve.

“Come, you need to get your medal.”

The other two medal recipients are already on the podium, clearly waiting for Lance. He tries not to look too bitter as he steps onto the pedestal labeled “2”.

Lance has seen Keith (who he can now put a name to his face) twice now, and in both circumstances, it has been made clear that Keith is a person of importance. It’s now that Lance realizes that Keith was one of the first ones to exit from the carriage when the Alteans first arrives, one of the only to receive the grand welcome in the front hall of the castle. Lance wonders what exactly he is the the Altean royalty.

As the moderator hurries to grab the medals, Lance turns to Keith, set on being a gracious loser (a role he does not always take well to) and establishing some friendly ties with this knight who clearly has some importance to Altea.

“Congratulations,” Lance says lightly. “You rode well.”

Keith appears slightly startled by the attention. “Thanks,” he says, and Lance is struck by the informality of his language. “You too, uh…” He trails off, clearly at a loss, and Lance feels justified in his flash of hot irritation.

Lance is not one to flash his title into other peoples’ faces. He does his best to treat his servants and lower-ranking officials with the respect they deserve as people, and does not demand people to treat him with kindness on the basis that he is a Prince. And yet, to hear this Altean knight, someone who is clearly respected by the Princess, have no idea who Lance is, feels like blatant mockery of his heritage.

“The name’s _Lance_ ,” Lance says, annoyance filtering in his tone in an attempt to get this Keith to realize who he is.

Keith blinks.

“Prince Lance, of Márea,” Lance continues.

Keith’s eyes widen. “Ah- uh- forgive me, Your Highness.” His voice is stilted, awkward, insincere (in Lance’s opinion); he gives Lance a bow, one that is not deep enough to atone for the disrespect of not recognizing a foreign _Prince_ , for God’s sake. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Yes, well,” Lance seethes. “Do they not conduct research on foreign royalty before treaty talks in Altea?”

Keith opens his mouth and then pauses, like he is reconsidering his words. “I apologize, Your Highness. I merely forgot.”

“No matter,” Lance says, in a tone that makes it clear that it _does_ matter. “You beat me in this race, Sir Kogane, but I’ll best you the next time.”

Keith clearly has no clue what to say to those, so he turns back to the front and stands stiffly as the moderator announces the top three and awards the medals.

 

Lance has wanted to participate in the official political matters of Márea since he turned eighteen. There should be no reason why, upon hearing that his mother wanted him at the treaty talks, he is so nervous.

He’s done all his studying. He knows the complicated history of Altean-Máreaan politics. In theory, he is prepared. It’s not like he’ll do much more than observing, anyway.

He hasn’t had contact with any Alteans except a brief exchange with King Coran and Princess Allura at breakfast. It’s been three days since the arrival, two days since the competitions, and for some reason, he cannot bring himself to face them much.

It may have something to do with the memory of Keith that still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Sir Kogane- Keith- he may just be forgetful,” Hunk reasons when Lance expresses this concern to him, but Lance can’t see to agree. If Lance is unknown to Keith, then what must his reputation amongst the other Alteans be? Does anyone know him?

“I won’t be with you during the talks,” Hunk tells him as he escorts Lance to the meeting room as moral support. “But try not to fret too much, alright?”

“Where will you be?” Lance asks.

“I’m meeting with Pidge, we plan on going to the Head Technician’s workshop and see if he has the patience to entertain us today,” Hunk answers.

“Pidge? I haven’t caught sight of her since the Alteans arrived.”

Hunk shrugs.  “Supposedly she’s been busy with someone and hasn’t had time. She says it’s a family thing.”

Lance frowns. “Okay, well. Have fun while I suffer, I guess.”

“You won’t suffer,” Hunk promises. “Have some faith in yourself, Your Highness.”

“Don’t sound so mocking,” Lance grumbles, although he smiles slightly. “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

The meeting room that the treaty talks are held in is larger than a usual conference room. Instead of one round table, there are two, inwardly-curving tables that sit facing each other, and plush chairs that line it.

Everyone else is there already, and Lance thanks the stars that he isn’t late or his mother would be glaring daggers at him. The whole royal family is present, as is two of Lance’s father’s most trusted advisors. Lance’s seat is as the far end of the table, placing him closer to the Alteans.

Princess Allura sits at the very center of the Altean table, with King Coran to her immediate right. Next to Coran, closest to Lance, is a rather skinny, younger man, the one with brown hair and that eerily familiar face (Lance feels like he’s close to figuring out who this person is). On Allura’s direct left is Sir Shirogane- Lance hadn’t expected the Captain of the Royal Guard to be included in the negotiations- and then, with ever more shock, Lance notices the familiar, smaller figure of Keith Kogane.

Brilliant.

When everyone is seated and calm, the King clacks his mallet against the table.

“The treaty talks are in session,” he says coolly. A scribe starts to scratch her pen against a notepad.

“The nations of Márea and Altea are meeting here today in order to declare their stakes in the planned treaty between the two kingdoms,” he says, “In this session, we are here to simply declare what each kingdom desires in the treaty.”

The King’s dark eyes sweep the room, and next to him, the Queen begins to speak. “The Galra Kingdom is rising in the west. It is for that reason that this treaty must be signed as soon as possible. The goal, agreed on by the Kings of both kingdoms, is at the end of the next two weeks. By that time, we should have the treaty finalized.”

King Coran leans forward. Lance is aware of his reputation as an amiable, usually humourous leader, but today his eyes sparkle sharply. “We would prefer this treaty to have minimal complications, so as to have it ready quicker. Preferably, less few tricky details.” _Don’t try to fool us with fancy wording or nitpicky conditions,_ is what it translates to.

“That is something both nations can agree on,” the Queen responds calmly.

When the Queen finishes, Juliana straightens up and pulls the papers in front of her closer. “The first order of business is a matter of trade. Márea is an agricultural kingdom bordering the ocean, and it would be beneficial for our economy to open up a trade route through the Altean mountain range. We would like untaxed access through the valleys of Altea to open up a trade route.”’

Princess Allura exchanged a brief glance with King Coran, and an unspoken message passes through their eyes.

“Objection,” Princess Allura says, and Lance presses down a flash of outrage. “However, I believe our offer will be marginally better. We will give you untaxed access through the Avean Road, our primary trade route towards the west. This route also branches out to different locations in that region, which would connect you to more areas than you would be able to in your own trade roads.”

Even Lance, who is less experienced with such negotiations, is taken aback. It’s a generous offer, ensuring that Márea would spare no expense in trade while boosting their economy, and Lance wonders what exactly it is that they want so bad.

“Of course,” King Coran continues, “In exchange, we want access to the trade routes and port at the east of your kingdom, in the Sea of Lar.”

It’s not a terrible request; the Sea of Lar is less frequented by Márea, and the port is small enough that it wouldn’t cost Márea much to host another kingdom’s ships.

Lance’s father clearly does not want to go so easy on them. “There would need to be an annual tax, at the very least, for the maintenance of the port and roads that Altea will use.”

“We would need to negotiate the cost,” Allura says serenely. “But, done.”

Juliana nods in a satisfied way.

“The second order of business,” Allura speaks again, and this time her voice is sharper, drawing everyone’s attention towards her. “The military alliance. The threat from the Galra grows in the west. We want Márea’s unhesitating support and back up in any future battles, as well as medical aid for soldiers if worst comes to worst. In return, we will do the same for Márea, and- this is likely the part that you will most need- we will supply you with some of our latest technology, so your defenses will be heightened.” The Princess nods toward the brown-haired man, and he stands up.

“My name is Matthew Holt,” he says formally. His face is distracting- it’s so familiar that Lance starts to connect the dots. “And I am Altea’s lead weapons developer. I have handpicked our strongest- and also our safest- bits of technology and I am willing to teach your army how to use it. Of course, none of this technology can go to the general public, it’s far too dangerous, but it will bolster your firepower in the fight against the Galra.”

“We accept those terms,” Juliana says, “We will discuss this in depth during a later meeting.”

Lance envies her. As the eldest child of the family, and the only one of them married, Juliana is the heir to the throne, and carries more authority than anyone in the kingdom, save for the King and Queen. She’s involved in everything and respected by everyone; Lance could never resent her for the attention she gets, but he does envy her.

The discussion carries on into more minor topics: monetary payment for damage caused to a Márean fort during a border skirmish, cheaper prices for peppers and bananas imported into Altea, new trade of Altean metals within the next six months. It passes by smoothly with few disagreements, and Lance expects the meeting to be done an hour and a half after it has started.

Then, Princess Allura says, “The final matter, I would prefer to discuss in private. Meaning, I would rather the guards be sent outside, and news of this should not get out to the public before it is finalized.”

Lance’s mother furrows her brow. “Why is that necessary?”

“It’s a rather sensitive matter,” King Coran says, “It’s possibly our biggest demand out of our treaty.”

Juliana and Ramira exchange a worried glance and Lance feels a pang of foreboding in his chest.

“Very well,” Lance’s father says eventually. “Guards, please station yourself outside the room. Do not lock the door, but do not let anyone inside without warning.”

The guards follow the King’s instructions and shuffle out the door, which shut with a resounding _thud_ _._

“This…” Princess Allura hesitates for what seems to be the first time since Lance has met her. She quickly gathers herself, eyes filling with a hard determination. “This may seem like a drastic request, but I ask that you hear me out till the end.”

“We shall decide that once we hear your stake,” the Queen says.

“It’s not a stake,” Princess Allura corrects, “We do not wish to treat this matter like a materialistic matter of trade or territory. It’s a personal request, one that would be quite beneficial to Altea and would unite the kingdoms in a sacred way.”

Ramira sits up suddenly, her face alarmed. Lance’s heart thuds and he turns back to the Altean table.

Princess Allura and King Coran exchange a glance, and Princess Allura does the same with Sir Shirogane, who has been sitting quietly this whole meeting.

“We have a proposal for marriage between the two kingdoms,” Princess Allura says finally.

A deafening silence rolls through the meeting hall. Nobody says anything, and the Princess and King Coran look at each other with confused faces.

Finally, Lance’s mother seems to compose herself enough to speak. “A marriage?” she asks, although her voice sounds dumbfounded still. “Between whom?”

Lance’s father finds his voice. “I would only assume that it would be a marriage between you and one of my children. Who would it be? Juliana is married. Would it be Ramira-”

“Father!” Ramira protests, and then claps her hand over her mouth, looking shocked at her own interjection. Lance’s father is halfway out of his chair, and his mother has her fists clenched under the table, just out of sight from the Alteans. Both of his father’s advisors are pale; nobody foresaw this demand.

On the Altean table, it is a different story. Sir Shirogane watches them with a neutral expression, and Keith has his eyes trained firmly on the table.

“It would not be,” Allura says loudly, so that every eye in the room gets directed back to her. “Ramira. And I have no interest in marriage at the present moment, no.”

“Then?” Juliana says testily, before the King can quell her words.

Allura’s cool gaze sweeps their table, before she straightens her shoulders and says, “We propose a marriage between Prince Lance of Márea, and our head of cavalry, Sir Kogane.”

Silence once more.

“You want me to marry _Sir Kogane_.” Lance’s voice rings out like a bell in the electric silence. Keith, at the very opposite end of their seating arrangement, does not look away from the table.

Princess Allura gives him a look of surprise. “It seems that you two are already acquainted with each other.”

“We are not,” Keith bursts out, whipping his head towards Allura. “We simply met at the horse race.”

Where Keith beat Lance, and proceeded to forget who Lance was. Lance glares at him, barely keeping the sharp words in his mouth.

“This is rich, Princess of Altea,” Lance’s father growls. “We were meant to create a military alliance. Surely you cannot expect us to agree to this.”

“I do,” the Princess says seriously. “I agree that it is…out of the ordinary, but it-” She breaks off, looking at Keith, who once again is staring at the table. “-it is a rather serious matter. Altea’s military would be stronger with this union.”

“Do not ask us to give our son away if you will not tell us why,” Lance’s mother says.

Lance wonders if they will ever ask _his_ opinion on the matter.

The Princess falters once more, and casts yet another worried glance at Keith. Sir Shirogane leans forward, clearly noticing her reluctance to speak.

“Sir Kogane is an important part of our military,” he says carefully. “And there have been certain…rumours flying around Altea, regarding his loyalty to the kingdom. Anyone who knows him knows that this is not true, but naturally, it is hard to convince the public of that. A marriage with the son of our allies would reaffirm his allegiance to Altea.”

 _Snatching up a foreign prince is an asset to our kingdom and will boost Keith’s reputation_ _,_ is what Lance hears.

“Why do we care?” Lance’s mother asks shortly.

“Because it affects our military,” Princess Allura explains calmly. “We both know that the Altean military is the stronger one between the two kingdoms, and likely your only chance to ward off the Galra in the long run. In making our military stronger, you increase the defenses of your kingdom.”

The problem is that Princess Allura is right.

The Márean military, simply put, is small. Before the rise of the Galran kingdom, there has never been a need for a strong military, and by the time they realized that a strong fighting force will be needed, it was too late; not many join the military, because it is not the Márean way to do so.

What is Lance’s freedom as the sole, single prince of Márea in comparison to the safety of their people?

“Perhaps we should hear the man speak for himself,” the King says, and Lance knows that his father is losing his composure because his words are frosty. “Sir Kogane should support the argument for his own marriage, should be not?”

Yet Lance’s whole family is watching Allura and Coran, as if they know that Keith will not speak. Keith snaps his head up, and Lance catches the flash of fear in his eyes.

Keith does not want this either.

Lance can sympathize with that, at least.

He stands up abruptly, anger spiking in his veins. He despises being spoken about as if this is entirely their decision to make (although it is a political matter, and he supposes that it is). He despises being put in this position, having to choose between his kingdom and his personal life.

“I don’t want to hear what he has to say,” Lance says, using all his willpower not to snap out these words. “This is my marriage we are discussing, is it not? I need some time to think by myself.”

“Lance,” Lance’s father says, in the “you’re breaking formalities and appearing undignified” voice that he uses when he needs to act particularly kingly.

“I must go,” Lance says stiffly. “Excuse me.”

And he turns on his heal and walks right out the door.

 

“They want you to _what_?” Pidge asks incredulously.

“To _who_?” Hunk asks in the same tone.

“You heard me,” Lance says. He sounds bitter to his own ears. “They want me to marry Keith.”

“But he’s a knight,” Hunk says as if the fact is not already obvious. “From another kingdom.”

“That’s not how it’s meant to work,” Pidge says flatly.

Lance sighs heavily. “I don’t- Juliana married a knight.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge says, nearly snapping at him. “You know that’s entirely different.”

Lance sighs once more. “I’m aware.” They’re _all_ too aware that the Alteans do not intend for Lance to stay in Márea should he marry Keith. Which Lance is in vehement opposition to.

“There’s no way that the King and Queen will agree,” Hunk says, eyebrows creasing. “It’s practically an insult to the family.”

Lance throws himself back onto his bed and brings both hands up to cover his face. He groans loudly. “It is an insult to me. Not to mention that I have absolutely zero interest in an arranged marriage of this sort. I wanted to marry for love. But I fear that my parents won’t listen to me.”

“Surely the Alteans will not call of the treaty if you do not agree to the marriage,” Pidge says. Lance cannot see her, but he can tell that she is frowning.

“I have no clue. Still,” he continues, “If my parents think that the Alteans will truly be able to assist us more through this marriage…I fear they may be swayed into agreeing.” _Besides_ _,_ he things, _what use do they have for me here? They love me but there is no political reason to keep me around._

Of course, he can’t say this out loud.

“I still don’t think that they will allow this,” Hunk says thoughtfully. “Your parents can be quite traditional, and it’s strange for a Prince to marry a foreign knight and leave the kingdom.”

Lance does not want to leave Márea. He has never even considered it. The sun and sea is as much a part of him as his own personality; he cannot imagine living in industrial, landlocked Altea.

Hunk lets out a drawn sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Pidge says.

“Pidge,” Lance says suddenly.

“What?” she answers, startled at the sudden change in tone.

“At the meeting…” Lance pauses, then decides to cut to the chase. “Matthwe Holt. Was that your brother?”

Since Lance and Hunk first met Pidge, years ago when they were teenagers, they knew about her brother: an older, elusive figure who loved technology as much as Pidge did and left to study in a foreign kingdom.

Pidge’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Uh. No. Who told you that?”

“I simply guessed,” Lance tells her dryly. “Since he looks exactly like you.”

“Wait, your brother? In Altea?”  Hunk asks, turning to glance at Pidge.

She stiffens, and then slumps with a sigh. “Maybe.”

“You never told us!” says Hunk, accusingly.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaims defensively. “I just didn’t- they’re a rival kingdom, I didn’t want to blurt out that my brother had gone to study there.”

“And he’s the lead weapons tech?” Hunk says wistfully. “You need to introduce me to him, Pidge.”

Pidge nods, and her shoulders unravel, probably realizing that they are not going to berate her for having a brother that lives in Altea. “I’ll do that. He’s quite a tech genius, he taught me everything I know.”

“Oh,” Hunk says excitedly, wriggling in his seat. “Do you think he could impart any of his wisdom to me? I would love to do more research on advanced vehicles, you know like the carriage the Princess and her close advisors arrived in?”

“My brother specializes in coding, but I’m positive that he could teach you-”

“I do want to learn more about coding-”

“When we were children, we had our own secret code which he made using-”

“You should introduce me, as well, Pidge,” Lance says loudly, interrupting their exchange.

Pidge hardly spares him a glance. “Did you two not already meet?”

Lance blinks. “I suppose. But I-”

He’d interrupted from his attempt at inclusion in their plans by a knock at the door. They all turn towards the sound.

“Come in,” Lance calls.

The door opens, but instead of a servant or guard, his mother pokes her head through. She smiles, although her eyes are uncharacteristically dark, and beckons him outside. “A word, please, Lance.”

Lance hesitates, but he can’t refuse her, so he simply slides out of his bed and mutters an “excuse me” to Hunk and Pidge, following his mother out the door.

He doesn’t speak because he suspects what this is about, and stays quiet until she takes a turn into a quiet room in a more secluded hallway.

“Mamá?” he asks.

“Sorry, for pulling you away, Lance, but this is of importance,” she says.

“Is this about the- uh- proposal?” he asks, cutting straight to the point. He can’t bring himself to say the word “marriage”; somehow, it sounds too final.

She hesitates, then says, “Well, yes. I know you were upset by it, and I simply wanted to hear your thoughts.”

“You mean, you wanted to know how much you’d have to convince me to agree,” Lance answers in a serious voice. He laces his fingers together. “I know that you see benefits in the marriage.”

“It’s not so much benefits, as, well- Princess Allura spoke to us after you left, and implied that it was a rather integral part of the treaty; she also said that, should you agree to it, she would disclose more as to why.”

“I don’t understand,” Lance says, frustrated. “Why you and father are able to trust her on this. Have you considered that this is a ploy to pull apart our family?”

“We have considered it,” his mother confirms quietly. “However, no matter what petty issues we and the Alteans have had in the past, I must admit that they keep their word. Princess Allura’s father was an honourable man, and our animosity has risen from bitterness that was created long before you were born. They would make powerful allies. Lance,” she adds when Lance opens his mouth to protest. “You do not understand the full threat of the Galra. This is our fault, I must admit. We never informed you in such detail about these matters. They are closing in on our kingdoms, and Márea is a huge trade advantage- the king of the Galra will make his move on us soon. We need these allies.”

“I have never wanted to get married for political purposes,” Lance tells her. He feels selfish; he knows that the kingdom will benefit from it, but he cannot agree to anything without saying his piece. “I don’t want to get married to someone I don’t know.

“I know,” his mother answers, and she looks sheepish. “I know.”

“The Alteans plan to make me theirs! They plan to have me working on their side; it’s not what I was meant to do, Mamá!”

“Lance,” she says, and the desperate edge to her voice clicks Lance jaw shut. “I wouldn’t want it if I didn’t think it was significant. We will negotiate the details of the marriage at a later meeting, but we need your willingness to act.”

“I’m not being given much of a choice, am I?” Lance asks.

His mother does not reply, and Lance’s insides twist.

“I suppose,” he says, and breaks off. He looks up at the ceiling and stares at it, hard, unable to contain the typhoon of emotions swirling in his chest right now. “I suppose I must serve my kingdom.”

“I’m sorry,” his mother says, and she sounds genuine. “If you are truly miserable, then in a few years we can negotiate something. But we need this.”

“I understand,” Lance says, willing his voice not to crack.

“Thank you,” she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. “Don’t worry.” His words are a feeble attempt at sounding brave, a feeble attempt at gathering himself. He can only hope that he will not be miserable.

 

This is ridiculous, Lance decides.

He's dressed nicely in a white dress shirt and blue pants, hair combed down and hairsprayed into place. He's walking alone, a rare occurrence due to the fact that Hunk is always a few steps behind him, but Hunk has disappeared, likely gone off to meet Pidge's genius older brother without Lance (Lance pretends that doesn't sting).

It's just as well, though, because today, company is being forced onto Lance.

"Ridiculous," he mutters. The guard stationed at the corner gives him a bemused look before glancing away hurriedly.

"Lance," the messenger had told him, "Her Majesty has sent you a message, saying that you will be giving Sir Kogane of Altea a tour of the castle grounds."

"You jest," Lance had send. The messenger had not jested.

So he turns the corner into the inner hall, where he sees Keith and Princess Allura, standing with their heads together and whispering under their breaths.

"Good morning!" Lance says with false cheer, belatedly realizing that it's past noon. "It's a pleasure to see you, Princess."

"Good morning, Prince Lance," she replies with a smile. "I'm aware that I'm not included in this tour, I'm simply here to give you my greetings."

Keith grumbles something under his breath that Lance doesn't catch, but Princess Allura gives him a sharp, irritated look.

"Not to worry, Princess," Lance replies airly, waving off her explanation. "You're welcome to join us, if you please, the our palace is quite beautiful. Oh, and please, you can call me Lance. We're of the same age, are we not?"

Princess Allura looks surprised at that, and Lance internally cheers. "It's close enough. If so, then you may call me 'Allura'. And I'm afraid to say that I must turn down the invitation, this is meant to be just for you two." She says "you two" the way someone would say "the newlyweds", and Lance feels nauseous.

"What a shame," Lance sighs, as he and Keith continue not to acknowledge each other.

"Well, I should be off," Allura says. She puts a hand on Keith's shoulders and Keith visibly scowls (Lance tries not to feel insulted). "I know that castle tours are meant to be a formal thing, but try to have fun, alright. The Queen and I have decided to be as hands-off about this as possible; just get to know each other!"

"We'll do our best," Lance tries to joke, and hopes it doesn't sound strained. Keith makes what sounds like a huff.

Allura nods. "Enjoy!" She wriggles her fingers at them as she sweeps away with a swoosh of her dress. Her heels clack down the hallway, growing fainter and fainter as she disappears around the corner.

Lance stuffs his hands in his pockets in a very unprincely way. "Do you always scowl at your Princess like that?"

Keith's dark eyes turn on him. They squint in what seems to be annoyance. "Really?"

“It’s a simple question,” Lance snarks, seemingly unable to control his own mouth. He doesn’t take responsibility; it’s not his fault Keith is so irritating.

“I don’t always scowl at her, it’s simply that this situation is less than ideal,” Keith says, scowling even more.

“Oh, poor you,” Lance mutters, dimly aware that the statement may be unfair. Then again, they had been told that the marriage was arranged to resolve some Keith-related issue surrounding their military, so he can’t imagine why Keith should be so upset.

Keith bristles at his comment. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Will you just show me around?”

“I should have you punished for being so unapologetically rude, Sir Kogane,” Lance fires back. He starts to strut down the hall, not waiting for Keith to catch up.

Keith hurries forward until they are neck and neck, glaring daggers at Lance. “You don’t need to call me that.”

“Why?”

“Because- argh! You make the title seem like a joke!”

“This marriage will make my title seem like a joke,” Lance says with acid in his voice.

“Trust me, neither of us actually want this,” Keith snaps.

They turn the corner into the grand hall, at the end of which is the entrance to the throne room. The walls are covered in massive portraits of Lance’s ancestors, and it is a place where Lance would normally enthuse about the country’s history. Instead, he simply grumbles, “This is the grand hall. These are ancestral portraits of the past royal family”, and they fall into a heated silence.

Unfortunately, Lance doesn’t operate well in silence, and a few moments later he finds himself opening his mouth as they cross the grand hall into the back end of the castle. “Why is this marriage so important anyway?”

Keith’s eyes cut through him like steel. “There are many reasons.”

“And am I not meant to know these reasons?” Lance scoffs.

Keith shrugs and crosses his arms tighter. He’s wearing a similar outfit to Lance’s, Lance notices, except with a red shirt and black pants.

“It secures ties for the treaty,” Keith lists, “It shows actual dedication and cooperation between kingdoms. I’m not good at negotiations, there are questions you should ask Allu- Princess Allura.”

“Allura said that the marriage was necessary because of rumors about _you_ ,” Lance points out, not in the mood for Keith’s beating around the bush. “I would like to know exactly what rumors can be so bad that they threaten to tear apart your military unless you marry me.”

Unexpectedly, Keith winces, which, while Lance feels a dash of pity, serves mostly to heighten his curiosity.

“That’s classified,” Keith says irritably.

“The reason behind my marriage is classified,” Lance snaps. “Brilliant. Glad to know that your kingdom knows honour.”

“You know _nothing_ of Altea or Altean honour,” Keith says, and his voice is like fire.

“The man who did not even know the name of the one he is meant to marry speaks about ‘honour’,” Lance says bitterly. Apparently, he has not gotten over that detail. Lance’s conversations with Keith bring out petty sides of him that he has never known.

“It was an oversight on my part,” Keith says frostily. “Not a reflection of my respect for Márean royalty.”

“I beg to differ,” Lance snorts. He realizes that he has not been paying attention to where they are going, and that they have just passed the kitchens, which is far away from any part of the castle worthwhile to visit.

“Where are we _going_?” Keith asks with irritation. “Surely you didn’t bring me down here to display your kitchens.”

“Our cuisine is one of a kind,” Lance retorts.

“You got us lost.”

“I have lived my entire life in this castle, we are not lost!”

“Where are we going?”

“If you didn’t insist on biting my head off every two minutes-” Lance stops in his tracks and turns on Keith, shoulders tense and tight. “Maybe I could concentrate and give you the damn tour!”

“Oh, I’m biting your head off?” Keith growls. He’s shorter and slightly smaller than Lance, but his body radiates fury; a flash of rage burns through Lance as he thinks, _he has no right._

“You have been nothing but impossible and disrespectful since we met,” Lance spits, “Oh, Keith Kogane, leader of the cavalry, why must he know the names of the people he needs to negotiate with?”

“That was never my intention,” Keith fires back. His fists are clenched against his sides and his eyes are hot with anger. “You know, I think I learned enough about you from this tour.”

Lance’s eyes narrow and he feels something cold settle in his stomach. “You know,” he hisses, “ _Nothing_ about me. Nothing. You are so caught up in your own pity party that you can’t even think about how this affects me?”

Keith opens his mouth, but Lance barrels on. “You do not think about how I, who’s meant to be a prince, will have to marry someone of lower rank and join his country instead of vice versa. You do not think about how my own people will look down-” Lance breaks off, a sick feeling rolling through his stomach.

Keith blinks, once, twice. “Why is it?” he says tautly. “That you care so much about this title of yours.”

Lance feels his stomach coil into an even righter knot, like a python raveling itself up tighter and tighter. “I don’t- It’s- I do not need to explain myself to you,” Lance says roughly. “There are certain things-” He breaks off once more, feeling horror blossom in his gut as his eyes start to burn.

Even Keith, as uncaring and rude as he seems, looks alarmed.

“If you are not willing to tell me why I must marry you,” Lance says, spitting out the word ‘marry’ like it’s poison. “Then I am not obliged to tell you why I am opposed to it.”

“Lance-” Keith starts.

“Do _not_ call me that!” Lance snarls at him. “Do not, Sir Kogane.”

Lance takes a deep breath and glares up at the ceiling, at the glowing lights that twinkle down from the chandelier. Then, he says, in the coldest, most detached voice he can muster up, “I’ll be seeing you.”

He turns around wordlessly and walks away.

Keith doesn’t say anything as Lance leaves the stifling hallway, and Lance breaks out into a run as soon as he is out of Keith’s line of sight. He flings himself into the nearest bathroom (which is thankfully not more than a few halls away from the kitchens) and locks himself inside, letting out a muffled sound of choked frustration and despair.

He presses his hands to his eyes and wills the tears away. It does not work.

He wants Hunk. He wants Hunk’s comforting presence and steady, assured reassurances that Lance is not set to lose everything he cares about (because Lance likely will not, but it feels like he will) and he wants Hunk to pat his hair and encourage him like he did when they were twelve and Lance twisted his ankle during a riding class. But Hunk is locked away in some workshop with Pidge and Matthew Holt, and Lance will not interrupt his best friend from the work he loves no matter how much Lance craves comfort right now.

 

He doesn’t tell Hunk or Pidge what happened.

He tells them that the tour was horrible and that Keith behaved like (in a crudely put way) a dick. He does not tell them about the tears or the yelling.

Hunk gives him concerned looks but does not push.

He hasn’t figured out yet how to tell his mother that this marriage would fall apart within moments of it becoming official.

It’s three days after their fight when Lance even catches a glimpse of Keith again.

He’s in the library. Márea has a large, extensive library with books of every genre and in a plethora of languages, both modern and old. It’s one of his favourite quiet spots, and he likes to curl up in the back corner in a plush chair and let the comforting silence act as a blanket to his troubles.

Clearly, Allura and Keith get the same idea, because he ends up hearing them rather than seeing  them, through the densely packed shelf that separates the three of them.

“It’s not going to work, Allura, I told you already.”

“Keith.” Allura’s voice is barely louder than the hiss of the fireplace that crackles in the central lounge of the library. “ _I_ told _you_ that this is the best way.”

“It can’t be. Not like this.”

“Keith,” Allura repeats, and her voice takes a desperate edge. Lance finds himself leaning closer, eager to hear what comes next. “I understand your concerns, I do-”

“You don’t, you didn’t see how he-”

“-it’s necessary. I’ve been hearing more and more reports of men, even your men, whispering about these-”

“-I don’t want to force-”

“It’s too dangerous for you to stay without something to prove your loyalty-”

“It’s not necessary to go so-”

“They think that you are not truly a member of Altea! And that you may turn against us! And they have reason to their concerns, even if we know it to be untrue.”

“We can find another way-”

“What other way? We have looked into all our options, there are none that don’t involve a suicide mission! And I have no interest in sending you away, heavens know what would happen to you without Shiro or me!”

“Very funny, Allura.”

There’s a tense pause.

“Give him a chance. Give me a chance, I’ll talk him into giving you a chance.”

“I trust your negotiation, Allura, but…”

“Please. I don’t want to force either of you into something if you detest each other, but I want you two to try.”

Lance hears a heavy sigh from Keith. His fingertips twitch against the bookshelf he leans against, and he wills himself to keep the silence for a few moments longer.

“I’ll trust you on this, Allura.”

Lance can hear the smile in Allura’s voice when she says, “Thank you, Keith.”

 

The light knock on his door comes the next day, after lunch. Lance is on his desk, paving his way through an assignment given by his tutor, and the noise makes him start and the chair squeak.

“Who is it?” he asks cautiously.

“Me- ah, Princess Alllura,” comes Allura’s voice. “We need to talk.”

Lance refrains from sighing. He’s known that this conversation was impending, but he had not been able to prepare himself for what she may tell him.

He gets up to let her in. She’s wearing casual clothes, a white dress and simple jewelry, but her gaze is as sharp as ever.

“Lance,” she says in greeting.

“Allura,” Lance answers, and smiles back. It’s only slightly artificial.

“May I come in?” she asks.

Wordlessly, he steps back, allowing her into the room. Her eyes wander over each wall, over the floor, before she walks to the seat pushed against the wall, where Hunk usually sits. She takes a seat neatly, and tangles her fingers together as she watches Lance expectantly.

Lance sits on the corner of his bed, facing her.

“So,” he says.

“I heard what happened with Keith,” she says bluntly, in a way that surprises Lance. Usually, such talks between two royal members of separate kingdoms tend to be in pretty, silver words, circling around the topic before going for the kill.

“Oh,” is all Lance can say.

“I just wanted to talk to you about the proposal,” Allura says, in a quiet, sincere way. “I realize that you two have some hostility between you-” That is a dramatic understatement, Lance thinks. “-and I don’t want to force either of you into an arrangement that would make you so wholly uncomfortable.”

“But you’re here to change my mind,” Lance points out.

“I’m here to convince you to give it another go,” Allura corrects.

“I need a proper explanation as to why this is necessary,” Lance says seriously.  

Her eyes shutter, placing guards against Lance’s words. “I believe I mentioned that rumors have arisen regarding Keith’s-”

“They think he’s not a proper Altean,” Lance interrupts, feeling bad but not willing to listen to more vague excuses.

Her words stutter to a halt and her eyes widen almost imperceptively. “Where did you hear that from?”

“A little birdie told me,” Lance says easily.

She’s unimpressed, and her mouth presses into a hard line. “You overheard us. That was private-”

“I’m sorry, Allura, but I think I have the right to know,” he tells her with finality. “If I don’t know what I’m getting into, I don’t want it.”

Allura looks away, hands folded in her lap. “The rumor,” she says eventually, “Is that Keith is part Galra.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “What?”

“That’s what people believe,” Allura says in a terse voice. “It’s detrimental towards our military organization, when soldiers do not trust their leader, especially at a critical time such as this. We need our strength now more than ever, especially if we are to help Márea defend themselves.”

“And so he needs to marry me,” Lance says flatly. “I fail to see how that dispels the rumours.”

Allura sighs. “It does not. However, it would be seen as something of an act of maturity, and to bring a foreign prince into the country would…well, it would show that he has something to provide for us.”

“I cannot help but feel used,” Lance says blithely.

“My apologies for that,” Allura says in a quiet voice. “But I implore you to give this another chance. Keith is not a bad person, nor does he have a bad heart. You two simply…got off on the wrong foot.”

“I can’t-” Lance starts, but he halts his words; he does not need another outburst like he had with Keith. “It’s not very fitting for a prince, is it?”

Allura shrugs and stands up. “It’s not very fitting for a Princess to rank higher than a King, and yet here I am, the true ruler of Altea. Give it a try, Lance, for both our countries. Don’t forget that this marriage helps to secure the ties of the treaty.”

Apprehension swirls in Lance’s gut. He can’t help but think of what he may lose if he agrees to this: his ties to Márea, the title that is the only true thing that makes him an active leader of Márea (he wonders if it would just be easier to leave to Altea, if that’s the way he can be most useful).

“Just think about it,” Allura says, now at the door with her hand on the doorknob. “I will not force either of you into this, because that would be unfair to both of you. But think about it.”

She leaves the room, leaving Lance alone with his thoughts.

 

Until about the age of eighteen, Lance was incredibly resistant to the idea of learning any sort of combat or weaponry.

His sisters hadn’t, at least not more than the average royalty was supposed to. Not because they weren’t capable, because they more than were. Simply because they had better things to do.

It wasn’t until Lance realized that he had to do something to stand out, and, hey, he had a pretty good aim, that he started to focus on archery.

And in Lance’s opinion, he does quite well.

The weight of the bow against his hands, the taut twang of the string, the satisfying _thwunk_ of the arrow when it hits the target- the careful repetition and pinpoint focus of it allows Lance’s mind to clear out all of his stormy thoughts and-

“Hey.”

Lance’s arrow goes sailing past the target and embeds itself into the training room wall.

He whips his head around to glare at Keith, who has the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says just as much sincerity as Lance would expect from him.

“Don’t apologize to me when you saw that I was aiming,” Lance fires back. “I should make you pay for the damage caused to the poor wall. Why are you here, Sir Kogane?”

“Don’t call me that,” Keith mutters; Lance pretends not to hear. “They said I could use this room for training.”

“Training for what?” Lance asks, and then glances down at the wooden sword in Keith’s hand, the one they use for practice to make sure that no one actually gets disemboweled. He snorts. “As expected. Why do you need to train, anyway? Didn’t you win the competition for that?”

“I just do. How do you even know that I won?”

Lance does not say that it was because, _I watched you fight, and it was captivating, your stance was as graceful as a dancer’s._

“Right,” Keith sighs when Lance does not reply. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day.”

“You’re not going to find anyone to spar with here,” Lance says casually, rotating his left shoulder to relax the muscle. “There aren’t many people up to your level, certainly not right now.”

Keith glances at the target, at the three arrows arranged in a perfect triangle on the center dot. “Seems like there are pretty good marksmen, though.”

Lance is briefly flattered at the praise, before realizing who has given it and squishing down the spark of joy. “I suppose,” he drawls instead.

Keith doesn’t even roll his eyes. “Look,” he says after a pause. “I actually am sorry for the other day. I was…hostile, and I likely said some things in a fit of anger. I’ve been known to do that.”

He sounds so sincere in his last sentence that Lance actually turns his head to look Keith properly. Keith has his gaze trained elsewhere, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“Did Allura put you up to this?” Lance asks. He can’t trust that Keith’s apology is genuine, not matter how much he internally wants to believe it is.

“What- no!” Keith splutters. Lance takes his blustering as a positive sign. “She doesn’t _put me up to things_!” He sounds highly irritated, and Lance wonders if that’s out of outrage on Allura’s behalf or outrage that Lance implied that he was commanded to do something.

“Except marriage,” Lance points out, being a complete and utter ass even to himself.

“That wasn’t her fault either,” Keith mutters. “She only ever tries to help.”

“She did come to speak with me,” Lance tells Keith, though Keith probably already knows. “Although it was a good effort, I’m at a loss as to how this arrangement is anything but detrimental to me.”

“I don’t,” Keith says, and then stops. “I understand the concern, but we have no intentions of bringing down your status. You would still be Prince Lance of Marea, but…wed to me.” Keith pauses and his eyes flick to the target. “Unless that’s the main issue.”

Lance struggles with many things, in that moment. Keith is the problem, per se, but there is a problem, and it’s one that Lance does not know if he can admit, even to himself.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and tries not to notice how Keith wilts. “I would tell you, I would, but it’s inadvisable to tell your political…opposer, I suppose I could say, these things.”

Keith tenses up, and Lance looks at him with hidden interest. “I’m not a very political person, Your Highness” Keith says rather stiffy. “I would not be on the negotiations panel if one of the matters did not directly concern me.” Keith steps back, opens his mouth as if intending to say more, and turns around, heading for the practice dummies that are set up on the opposite side of the room.

Lance resumes shooting his arrows, but he can’t help but catch the slight sounds behind him, the squeaks of shoes against the floor and the sword thumping against the leather dummies. He doesn’t turn to look, although his curiosity is killing him.

As he reloads his bow, his mind is whirling. He thinks about Allura, saying that Keith needs to salvage his reputation. He thinks about his mother, telling him that this treaty is important. He thinks about the way he and Keith butted heads when they last met.

His mind reroutes back to the treaty, the one he knows can protect them from the Galra, the one that can protect his people and his family.  

Eventually, his arms tire of holding the bow, and the pads of his fingers feel raw and nicely worn. He turns around, and Keith is still going at the training dummy.

He looks almost bored, dancing around the dummy and swiftly striking it at the critical points of its body- neck, head, chest- but he flicked his sword with intensity, and Lance was half worried that the dummy would tear.

Lance allowed himself a moment to observe the way Keith’s body twisted as he swung the sword (he could admit that Keith had a decent physical appearance), and to have one last, split-second debate with himself before walking forward.

“I feel like I should not leave you alone, here, Sir Kogane,” Lance says. Keith starts, and he whirls around before realizing who Lance is and dropped the sword with a clatter.

“Sorry,” Keith breathes heavily.

“Don’t you point a sword at me, Sir Kogane,” Lance says, not entirely seriously. Keith quirks an eyebrow.

“Reflex,” he says, in a way that persuades Lance not to pursue the subject.

Lance clears his throat. “How long do you plan to train?”

Keith’s eyebrows raise by a millimeter. “Why? Why are you asking all of a sudden?”

Lance shrugs. He glances away and tries his best not to fiddle or fidget (he fails). Eventually, he settles on saying, “I suppose that…I feel the need to be civil with you.”

Keith looks confused, so Lance continues, “Although I’m not happy with the arrangement, I recognize that it might be for the best. It’s my parents will. It might be best to try and make this work.”

Keith’s shoulders hike up by a few centimeters. He looks distinctly unsure of himself, and very, very wary, so Lance waits for him to collect his words.

“I guess,” Keith says rather uncomfortably. His mouth closes shut so tightly that Lance wonders if he’s capable of speaking more.

Lance shuffles his feet and reaches a hand back up to scratch at the back of his neck. “For the sake of peace,” Lance says, “We should communicate.”

Keith has a strange, nearly skeptical look on his face, as if the concept of “communication” is foreign to him. Lance sighs inwardly, wondering if he must doo all the work in their relationship.  

“Look, will you work with me or not?” Lance asks, a tad more impatient than he usually would be. He taps his foot against the floor, the shoe clicking against the wood.

“Yes,” Keith says shortly. His eyes shift. “I suppose I’m willing.”

Lance drags a hand over his face, trying not to feel like he’s pulling teeth. He wants to make this work, he truly does, but he needs cooperation for that. “Very well. Suppose…we meet up sometime. We can discuss this on our own terms.”

Keith hesitates for a moment and then nods, once, briefly. “Okay, um. Sure. Your Highness.”

Lance presses his lips together and says, “Okay. I’ll see you.”

They hover around each other for a moment, neither meeting the other’s eyes, and then Lance mutters, “Okay. Bye”, and turns on his heel, putting the bow away in its allotted space and exiting the training room, the heavy discomfort of that conversation weighing on his shoulders.

 

Lance sends out an invitation two days later to Keith, meet in the back patio that afternoon. The reason it takes two days is because Lance spends those hours building his own resolve to go through with this. He’s mentally prepared himself for the possible fights that they may or may not have and the inevitable awkwardness of having lunch with the partner of your political marriage.

He arrived at the patio- a small, roofed area with elegant, white benches, hidden just behind a large hedge- earlier than the given time, and paces around the ivory deck while checking his watch every few seconds.  

When he sees a lone figure walking towards the patio, he stops in his tracks and feels a knot form in his stomach. Keith wears a grim, determined face, which reflects how Lance feels internally, but it does nothing to calm his rather fragile nerves.

“Good afternoon,” he says politely, as Keith steps into the shade. He’s wearing full black, a surprising fact considering that Altea’s colours are white and blue, and that black is often viewed as a more Galra colour.

“You have a lovely garden,” Keith comments with equal formality, maintaining the metaphorical distance between them.

Lance waves a hand in the air. “We have a talented garden staff.” Frustration bubbles in his chest at the small talk- it feels unnatural in this situation, but Lance prefers the thick awkwardness to the fiery explosions of rage. Tension crackles in the air as they eye each other, before Lance decides to talk the initiative and invite Keith over to observe the view.

The patio is boxed in by white fence, and it overlooks a small pond that Lance, personally, is very proud of. The sun glitters over the water and bright flashes of fish shine from underneath it as the surface ripples lazily in the breeze.

Keith comes up to the fence and puts a hand on the rail, observing the pond silently. They have a good meter of distance between them, and Lance taps his fingers against the wood.

“So,” Lance says, at the same time Keith says, “Well.”

Lance makes a ‘go on’ gesture at Keith, who grips the railing and turns his head to look at Lance.

“You invited me here to discuss the terms of the marriage, am I right?” Keith asks. He says the word “marriage” like someone would say “prison” or “fungus” or something equally undesirable, and Lance cannot help but feel the same.

“I…did.” Lance traces a finger over the smooth wood, unsure of what to say. He had not planned anything, with the intention of being as natural as possible. “I thought, perhaps if we could discuss the terms of it on our own…”

“Anything I agree to would need to be approved by Allura,” Keith says dubiously. “Would it not be easier to speak about this with her?”

Lance shakes his head, wondering how he should explain his thoughts. “Princess Allura…she’s a very capable negotiator, but naturally, she has less personal stake in the issue.” He thinks for a moment of her, hissing at Keith that she does not want to send him away, and pushes the thought away. “I believe that we should have the liberty of discussing the more…personal issues of this union in privacy.”

Keith nods shortly and clears his throat. “Alright. Do- what do you have to say, then?”

“Well, first…” Lance tries not to make a face. He doesn’t like breaching intimate topics with strangers, but he supposes that he has to, should he want to make this thing work. “I was hoping you could tell me about this whole situation that Allura briefly explained. The rumors? Apparently, they’re saying you’re half-Galra.”

Keith’s eyes fly open, and his pupils darken. “Who’s saying that? That’s not-”

“I’m not saying I believe them,” Lance interrupts, and Keith falls silent with a rather belligerent look on his face. “I was merely told by Allura that they exist and have been spread amongst your men.” He refrains from saying that spreading rumours is incredible disrespectful and would be considered a high offence in Márea.

“They exist,” Keith says tightly. His eyes flash, and something convinces Lance not to press.

“What I am especially curious about,” Lance continues, looking back out over the pond. “Is why Allura believes that a marriage would solve the issue. She mentioned something about maturity?”

Keith looks distinctly uncomfortable, like a fish out of water. His brows furrow and his mouth rows into a slight pout, like he is thinking hard. “I, well. It’s hard to explain. In Altea, it’s kind of- I would be more secure, from a cultural standpoint. And I would be bringing you into our royal family.”

The last statement piques Lance’s interest. “Royal family?”

Keith nods and raps his fingers against the rail. “Me and Allura, well…we’re close.”

“I can see that,” Lance comments.

Keith continues, “My older- Sir Shirogane is actually second in line for the throne, and I’m third. So they kind of consider me…” His voice trails away into a low mutter. “…part of the royal family.” He glances towards the floor and shifts his feet.

After a moment, he looked back up. “If the soldiers under my command see that I’ve married into royalty, and united the kingdoms through the treaty, they’ll trust me more. And our kingdom needs our military’s trust.”

Lance looks away and fiddles with a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. It’s too hot for the outfit he’s wearing, but it’s too late to change. “I suppose my issue is that although you’re marrying into royalty, I’ll be carted away to a foreign kingdom.” Then, he winces, regretting the wording of his sentence and the bitter edge that it carried.

“You- you’re not being carted away, though?” Keith frowns at him like he’s trying to figure Lance out. “You’re still a Márean prince.”

Lance does not know how to respond to that. If he was speaking to Hunk, he wouldn’t have to explain the insecurity that comes with being the youngest member of the family, the last to inherit the throne, the one that possesses the least power out of their siblings. He’s not sure he wants to expose this to a stranger like Keith.

“I don’t want me to be unimportant to my kingdom,” Lance says eventually. Then, he is struck by a bout of panic at the thought of sounding ungrateful or selfish, and hurriedly continues, “I don’t mean that I think my personal feelings is more important than the treaty. If I have to make sacrifices for the safety of the kingdom, then of course it should happen, I’m merely explaining why I’m personally-”

“What are you talking about?” Keith says, sounding mildly annoyed. “How would you be unimportant? You would be part of two kingdoms rather than one.”

Lance lets out a heavy sigh. There’s no way to possible explain how he doesn’t want to serve his kingdom merely by being a token of negotiation, but it seems that there is no alternative, and though he doesn’t consider himself more important than the kingdom in any way, he wishes the situation could be different.

“It’s just.” Lance winces, feeling like a whining child. “I suppose I wish to contribute to the kingdoms in my own way.”

It feels like he just revealed some large secret, though he knows that Keith likely won’t see it that way.

Keith’s face scrunches up- Lance tries not to find that endearing- and his eyes are carefully trained on Lance in a way that’s rather unnerving.

“You would still help the kingdoms,” Keith says flatly. “If you truly want, I can speak with Princess Allura…”

Lance winces, imagining revealing his insecurities to the Altean princess and how his parents would react to _that_. “Dear lord, Keith, don’t bother her with that.”

Keith scowls. “Then how am I meant to fix whatever is bothering you?”

Lance looks at Keith in surprise, startled by his statement. “You don’t- it’s not your responsibility to fix anything, you’re as reluctant as I am in this whole issue.” When Keith opens his mouth, presumably to argue, Lance cuts him off. “Look, you aren’t as insufferable as I first thought-”

“Thanks,” Keith says dryly.

“-perhaps we just need to know each other better. It’s not like,” Lance says, and cringes at his own words. “It’s not like we’ll be wed tomorrow.”

Keith looks displeased, and he glances away. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I definitely am,” Lance says. “And you should certainly listen to me.”

Keith rolls his shoulders back, and runs his hand through his tragic haircut. “Perhaps you were right in meeting together to discuss this,” he admits.

Lance smiles victoriously, reaching out to clap Keith on the shoulder. His arm nearly freezes when he realizes the friendly gesture he performed, but he brushes it off with a bright smile and prays that Keith doesn’t react badly.

Keith’s eyes shoot towards Lance’s hand, which is already whipping away from his shoulder, but he doesn’t protest.

“I should be on my way, Sir Kogane,” Lance says, “I have princely duties to attend to.”

Keith flicks his eyes up towards the roof of the patio, like a barely-concealed roll of his eyes. “I believe I told you not to call me that.” His words are snappy, but don’t sound truly malicious, which makes Lance’s heart lift.

Lance grins in response, fighting the urge to flick a finger at Keith’s hair. “You should be proud of your title. We aren’t even close.”

Keith levels his frustrated gaze on Lance. “I am. But…” His face turns pink, and Lance’s looks forward to his next words. “It would be strange to be called ‘Sir’ by the person you’re meant to marry up until the day of the wedding.”

Lance pauses. “What should I call you, then?”

Keith gives him a disbelieving look. “My _name_?”

“If you insist.” Then, Lance pauses again, and says in a more serious tone, “I am still unsure of this arrangement, to be completely honest with you. But I think- perhaps we can make it work. If you’re willing.”

Keith nods quickly. “This whole arrangement benefits me, in the end. I’m willing.”

Lance gives him a small smile. “Good.” This time, he does reach over and flick at a stray bang that lies across Keith’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon, Mullet.”

Keith’s mouth drops open, and Lance leaves the patio without another word, striding away with barely concealed laughter.

 

“I’m glad to hear that you’ve been getting along with Keith,” his mother says with a quick smile.

Lance chokes on his drink, surprised at the sudden change of topic. She had invited him for a quick snack in the lounge; he should have realized that there was an ulterior motive behind her sudden change in conversation.

“We’re not- that’s hardly getting along,” Lance answers, embarrassedly. “We’ve merely spoken.”

“Better than how you were a few days ago.” She gives him a knowing look.

“I can’t argue,” Lance admits, “But I wouldn’t say that we’re getting along spectacularly. We’re just civil with each other.”

His mother hums. “Let me suggest something.”

“Oh no,” Lance jokes. He sets his glass down and leans forward to listen.

“If you’re willing,” his mother says, “You can go out with him to the Ortez Springs. As a sort of picnic.”

If Lance were holding his drink, he would have dropped it. “Wait. Are you asking that I go out with him _alone_?”

“I don’t think that alone would be the best idea,” she agrees, “But I would be open to letting Hunk and Pidge go with you.”

Lance doesn’t respond. On one hand, if Lance acts too down, his friends will give him pitying glances, and if he acts too friendly, they will be sure to tease him later on. On another hand, it gives them emotional support.

Lance hates being this lacking in resistance towards his parents.

“Fine,” he groans. “Just one day.”

“It will do you good to get to know him,” she says, nodding. “Just one day.”

Hunk and Pidge agree to the arrangement with enthusiasm, so Lance has no reason to back out (he isn’t sure if he necessarily wanted to). They decide to go that Friday, when the weather will supposedly be sunny and they can play in the waterfalls if they so pleased.

Lance takes himself to the east wing of the castle, where the guests are staying. At least, that’s where Allura is staying, and Lance just assumes that Keith would be there, too. The east wing is the emptiest wing of the castle, so Lance walks for a few minutes in silence until he reaches the third floor, which was where he knows Allura has been staying.

When he reaches Allura’s room, he glances around. There are three other rooms in the corridor, so he chooses the one two doors from Allura’s door’s right and knocks.

Within a few seconds, it is opened by a tall, muscular figure with dark eyes and a sharp jawline. His eyes flick down to Lance and he frown.

“Prince Lance?” he asks in a deep voice.

Lance nearly jumps. “Sir Shirogane!” he exclaimed, in what he hopes was not a squeaky voice.

“Can I help you?” Sir Shirogane asks.

“I- well- I was looking for Keith- Sir Kogane,” Lance stammers.

The surprised look on Sir Shirogane’s face makes Lance want to cringe.

“Keith? Really?” Sir Shirogane asks, and Lance notes how he doesn’t refer to Keith using a formal title. Lance nods.

“He’s in the next room,” Sir Shirogane says, ang gestures to the door next to his. “Um. He’s probably still in his sleepwear, I should-”

“No, it’s alright,” Lance says.

“-don’t want to startle him-”

“It’s okay,” Lance states.

Sir Shirogane nods. “Alright. Nice to see you, Prince Lance.”

“You too,” Lance answers awkwardly, and Sir Shirogane closes the door,

Lance goes to Keith’s door and knocks.

After a moment, a response comes. “Is that you, Shiro?”

“Definitely not,” Lance responds dryly. ‘Shiro’ must be Sir Shirogane, and Lance finds it strange for the rather intimidating Head of the Royal Guard to be referred to with such a casual nickname.

He hears something akin to “oh, shit” from inside the room, and a flurry of movement, before the door opens, revealing Keith to him.

Rather than being in his sleepwear, Keith looks somewhere between ‘just rolled out of bed’ and ‘hasn’t slept the whole night’. He’s wearing casual clothes, hair a rat’s nest, and he looks rather exhausted, as if someone just dragged him out of sleep.

“When Sir Shirogane said you were in your sleepwear, I was not expecting this,” Lance remarks.

Keith flushes. “That-  what are you doing here?”

“I’m inviting you to Ortez Springs,” Lance says, “Well, my mom wanted me to. So you’ll be coming with me and my friends.”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? What if I refuse?”

“Why would you?” Lance counters. He gives Keith a once over. “Doesn’t seem like you have anything planned.”

Keith opens his mouth, and then closes it, looking uncertain.

“Look, just come on,” Lance says with a sigh. “We don’t bite.”

Keith gives him a small nod. “When?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Lance glances at his watch and raises an eyebrow. “In an hour.”

“An _hour_ ,” Keith says disbelievingly. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“You can be really difficult, you know that?” Lance says mildly.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’ll be there.”

Lance gives him a satisfied grin. “Great! I’ll meet you at the south exit of the castle. Be on time.”

“I will,” Keith answers. “Uhm.”

“I better see you there,” Lance says, and in an attempt to alleviate the sudden awkward atmosphere, adds, “Bye, Mullet.”

As he walks away, he hears Keith’s small snort, and smiles to himself.

The chefs prepare a picnic basket for them (Lance offers, with a playful grin, to help, but the head chef looks at him in a rather motherly way and declares that he can’t cook to save his life). He meets up with Hunk, who, for once, is wearing clothes other than fancy formal suits or his stained engineer’s outfit. Together they go, laughing, to drag Pidge away from her workshop, and the hour is up by the time they’re ready.

“He’s a minute late,” Lance huffs, checking his watch to be sure.

“Maybe your watch is just not calibrated,” Pidge suggests, pushing her glasses up.

“Be patient, Lance,” Hunk says.

“If he’s not here within five minutes we’re leaving without him,” Lance grumbles.

“Wouldn’t that be better?” Pidge questions, raising an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t know how she does that so skillfully. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“ _Why_ does everyone keep saying that?” Lance huffs.

“It may be because you ranted about him for hours,” Hunk supplies helpfully.

“I don’t not like him,” Lance continues as if Hunk hasn’t spoken. “I just don’t get along with him that well.”

“Well, unless I’m heavily mistaken, he’s coming this way, so quiet,” Pidge hisses, and they all whip around with matching, sunshine smiles, to meet a hassled-looking Keith, wearing a nice red shirt and black pants, that contrasted Lance’s white and blue rather spectacularly.

“You’re wearing that to Ortez Springs?” Lance asks in lieu of a greeting, and privately wonders why meeting Keith turned him into such a dick.

“You never told me what Ortez Springs is,” Keith answers shortly.

“It’s easy enough to tell from the name,” Lance says snidely.

“Okay!” Hunk cuts in, to Lance’s utter gratitude. “Nice to meet you, Sir Kogane, I don’t believe we’ve been formally acquainted.”

“You can call me Keith,” Keith says, reaching out to accept Hunk’s handshake. “And likewise. Your name?”

“That’s Hunk,” Lance throws out.  “He’s my personal advisor who’s quite the subversive. No respect for his Prince.”

“We’ll get along just fine, then,” Keith says. Hunk grins at him.

“That was a joke just now, right? Hey, you’re funny,” Hunk comments, and Keith lets out an true, genuine laugh, giving Lance a heart attack in the process.

“I’m Pidge,” Pidge says, walking up to Keith and sticking her hand and standing straight in the way she does when meeting new people and wanting to appear taller. “Nice to meet you!”

“You too,” Keith answers, “You’re Pidge, right? Matt’s sister.”

Pidge _glows_. “That’s me,” she says with a grin.

“He talks a lot about you,” Keith tells her.

“Wow, Pidge, he actually tells his friends these things,” Lance bites out, playfully, mock-glaring at Pidge.

Pidge sticks her tongue out at him, and Lance sighs dramatically.

“Hey, uh, we should make leave,” Hunk says.

“I agree,” Lance says, “Ready to explore the most beautiful location in Márea, Mullet?”

Keith gives him a withering look at the nickname, but nods.

They take a car to the location- Lance prefers to travel by horse buggy, but that’s only really used for ceremonial reasons at this point in time. Lance honestly cannot say that the ride is quiet, seeing as it’s the first time in weeks where Pidge, Hunk, and he have been able to hang out comfortably. Not even the stranger thrown into their midst can ruin their good atmosphere.

And truly, Lance tries to include Keith. Keith seems to be very resistant to that idea, for reasons that Lance cannot decipher.

They arrive at Ortez Springs, which is a beautiful area surrounded by lush forest and a gentle upslope that leads to a crystalline waterfall and a clear, shallow lake. Lance has been here more times than he can count, from when he was a young child, but it has been a while since he’s visited, and he’s eager to revisit all the exciting activities that can be done here.

Hunk, being the strongest out of them, is given the responsibility of lugging the picnic basket, while Lance and Pidge hasten to dash ahead, invigorated by the fresh green air (Lance is surprised at Pidge’s joyful reaction to the sunlight, but supposes even the most reclusive of intellectuals need their vitamin D). Keith is the only one that hangs back, trailing a few feet behind Hunk, and Lance can only go a few meters forward before realizing that it’s just not in his nature to let someone get left out of the fun, apparently not even the person who he exchanged a yelling match with just a few days ago.

“You really should hurry up, Mullet,” he remarks, glancing over his shoulder. “We need to secure our spot for the picnic.”

Keith nods once and increases his pace, but he still maintains distance between himself and the rest of the group. Lance frowns but decides to let it go for now; he doesn’t know Keith well enough to prod, and he definitely doesn’t want to seem intrusive or annoying.

“We need to go to where it overlooks the waterfall,” Pidge says. Lance smirks at her.

“You’re feeling particularly in tune with nature, I must say, Pidge.”

“If I see a bug,” she says emphatically. “I’m leaving.”

They walk up the slope until the reach their designated spot. Lance thinks it’s beautiful. The gentle hill drops off into a small hollow, filled with a glittering lake and emerald trees. A waterfall of diamonds pours down from a crystal-clear stream, filling the air around it with white froth and cool droplets. The wind shivers through the tree branches, and the chatter of birds surrounds them like wind chimes.

“This place is beautiful,” Hunk says admiringly, though the three of them have been here before. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance watches Keith, who glances around with an awestruck look on his face.

They set down the basket, and Hunk and Lance roll out the blanket, large enough so that the four of them can sit on without touching each other. Not that Lance bothers to. He stretches out, resting the upper half of his body on Hunk’s lap and his feet on Pidge’s.

Pidge hisses, shoving Lance off her. This makes the corner of Keith’s mouth twitch upwards, which Lance notices carefully.

“We should go for a hike,” Hunk suggests.

“We certainly should not,” Pidge retorts. Her fingers skitter over her legs like they’re searching for something to do.

“I want to swim,” Lance yawns, then gasps. “Hunk! We didn’t pack our swimming clothes! You should have reminded me.”

Hunk pokes him gently in the side. “I’m your advisor, not your attendant.”

Lance grumbles.

All throughout their banter, Lance can’t help but notice the way Keith watches them with an unreadable expression. It’s not hiding some malicious intent, at least, Lance doesn’t think it does. Keith keeps gazing off into the distance with a strange look in his eyes. Lance can’t help but wonder why.

“Hey, Mullet, what would you like to do?” Lance asks, “Seeing as we planned this trip for you.”

Keith blinks like a startled rabbit, as if the question was totally unexpected. “What would I…I don’t know.” He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.

Lance raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got to have some interests other that sword fighting and horse-riding.”

Keith shrugs.

Hunk pipes up, “You know, we could just go swimming anyway.”

Lance glances over at Hunk and grins. “Oh, Hunk? Suggesting such a scandalous thing? I’m all for it.”

Pidge wrinkles her nose. “I’d rather not,” she says, “But you two have fun.”

“Sure,” Lance agrees easily. “Keith?”

“I’ll watch,” he says, casting an uncertain glance at the waterfall. Lance concludes that swimming is not for everyone.

They move their picnic into the hollow, so that Keith and Pidge can sit next to the shore of the lake, far enough that the waterfall’s creamy mist can’t spray them. Lance and Hunk strip down to their undergarments, and immediately, Lance catapults himself into the water.

Hunk cannonballs in after, and they sink like rocks to the bottom, leaving a trail of white, foamy bubbles in their wake. Then, Lance kicks, spurting upwards until his head breaks through the surface of the lake.

His eyes meet Keith’s, and he grins, shaking the water out of his hair like a wet dog. “The offer’s still open, if you want to join.”

“Pass,” Keith says. His eyes flick downward, and after a pause, he asks, “Is it not cold?”

Lance snorts. “It’s summer, Keith, it’s not that cold. Though you would think that, being from such a mountainous region.”

“Do you get to see snow very often?” Pidge asks, and she and Keith are sucked into a conversation about Altean weather patterns that sound quite turbulent and terrifying. Lance is glad that he lives by the mild climate of the sea.

Lance turns and slithers towards Hunk, and pushes his arms out, sending a massive wave towards him and making him splutter with outrage.

“I’m going to get you for that,” Hunk says threateningly, and Lance turns tail and swims, thankful that he is so fast under water because Hunk’s revenges aren’t something to fool around with.

By the time Lance and Hunk have finished exalting their numerous revenges on each other (and provided plenty of entertainment to Keith and Pidge, Lance is sure), Lance has begun to feel an itch for more adventure, and he glances up at the top of the waterfall with a considering face.

“Lance, don’t do it,” Hunk says automatically, probably from reading his expression.

Lance beams. “It’ll be fun!”

Hunk gives him a look. “I refuse to aid you in your conquest for reckless danger.”

“But you’re not going to stop me,” Lance points out.

“Is it any use?” Hunk asks, and Lance has to agree that no, it is not.

He hauls himself out of the lake, shaking his head to rid himself of the water droplets that trickle down his neck. His shirt clings to his skin rather uncomfortably, but he shrugs it off as he walks to the cliff. He looks up and determines that it’s not unreasonably high; he just has to be careful and not grab any loose rocks.

“That’s a really bad idea,” Pidge calls from behind him. For a moment, he considers listening to them, but he’s confident enough in his climbing skills, so he places his foot on a solid looking rock.

“I’ve done this before,” he says over his shoulder, not untruthfully. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lance hears Pidge say something, and then Keith respond, but he can’t decipher the words. He hoists himself up, and starts to slowly yet steadily make his way up the small cliff.

His hands grapple the rough stone, pressing dents into his skin. Despite his confident words, it has been a while since he’s climbed on such a natural terrain, and his hands start to burn when he’s halfway through his ascent.

He persists, relishing the slight burn of his muscles. He wills himself not to look down, knowing that could be dangerous and will distract him.

He realizes that the water droplets still sprinkle towards him from this distance, and only hopes that the rock isn’t too wet for him to continue safely.

Then his foot hits a slick spot, his fingers give out, and gravity beckons him towards the ground.

“Lance!” Hunk cries in a terrified voice.

He falls.

Before he can even accept the inevitable snap of his neck that will result in his untimely death, he’s crashing into a warm body, and together, they let out a pained grunt and crumple towards the floor.

He hears Pidge run over to them, asking, “Are you okay?” in an urgent voice, and Hunk’s splashes as he tries to get out of the lake.

The body underneath him jerks, and Lance finds himself tumbling onto the dirt as Keith stands up, outfit covered in mud and a thunderous expression on his face.

“Watch out, idiot!” Keith snaps, “You could have broken your neck!”

“What, like I meant to?” Lance replies hotly. “So sorry for my reckless behavior!”

“You should be,” Keith fires back. “You could have died!”

“Woah, guys,” Hunk says placatingly. “We’re all okay, let’s not fight.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me!” Lance hisses.

“And I was meant to let you fall?” Keith retorts.

They glare at each other for a solid ten seconds, a crackling silence filling the air.

“Whatever,” Lance mutters, pushing past Keith. He can feel Pidge and Hunk’s eyes on his back as he stalks away. “Let’s eat and go.”

“Wait, Lance- _Lance_!”

Lance speeds up, not wanting to deal with whatever frosty words Keith wants to say next, and he nearly makes it out of the hollow (passing the picnic basket with a regretful glance) before Keith grabs onto his arm and whirls him around.

“ _What_?” Lance asks.

“Just- look.” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, looking like he’s searching for words. “I didn’t mean to call you an idiot.”

“You _didn’t mean_? Then what exactly-”

“I’m _sorry_ , okay? I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Keith scowls, glaring holes into the grass. Then, his dark eyes flicker up to Lance, just for a moment, and the lines around his mouth soften. He says, in a reluctant voice that doesn’t match his words, “You startled me.”

“I startled you,” Lance repeats.

Keith turns his glare onto Lance. “Yes! Do I need to reiterate? You could have died.”

“You’re an asshole,” Lance says shortly.

“I’ve been told.”

“Let me finish.” Lance prods Keith’s shoulder. “You’re an asshole, but I guess you’re okay.”

Keith blinks. “Thanks?”

“Look, thank you for not letting me die, even though it was a rude thing to yell at me,” Lance finalizes.

“I apologize for yelling at you. It was rude of you to not listen to your friends and nearly plunge to your doom,” Keith responds flatly.

Lance nods. His chest feels strange, and he feels as if they just established something, but he can’t quite figure out what that is.

“Hey!” Hunk calls from the picnic blanket. “Can we eat?”

“We’re starving!” Pidge adds.

“Coming!” Lance says in response. He looks back at Keith, who averts his eyes. “Come on, Keith.”

Keith blinks up at him, and Lance realizes that’s the first time he’s said Keith’s first name in front of Keith.

He’s not sure why that fact has suddenly hit him, or why his stomach feels full of butterflies.

So he hurries towards his friends, pushing the thought out of his mind and thinking that perhaps this is a matter to dwell on for another time.

 

Lance is woken up in the middle of night by a wide-eyed Hunk, who has a tight grip on Lance.

“What, what?” Lance asks, grabbing onto Hunk’s wrist to keep him from squeezing any tighter.

“There’s an emergency,” Hunk half-whispers, “At Fort Hara. Your parents are calling for you.”

Lance rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you talking about? Why do they need me?”

“They didn’t explain,” Hunk says fearfully. “They just said that they need to speak to you.”

Lance nods grimly and slides out of bed. He quickly grabs a change of clothes and pulls them on, not caring about whether anything matches or not. Then, he lets Hunk lead him out of his room, through the dim halls of the castle. He expects to be taken to a meeting room, but instead, Hunk takes him to the west end of the castle. Out of the large windows, Lance can see multiple carriages, horses, and vehicles waiting, illuminated by tall lamps that glow in the ghostly night.

His family is gathered in front of the entrance, along with some generals and advisors; all of them look like they just rolled out of bed. Princess Allura is also there, posture tense, and when her eyes catch Lance, the corners of her mouth tighten.

“Máma?” Lance speaks to his mother, who’s closest to him. “What happened?”

Her eyes are grave. Lance’s father steps forward. “Watchguards have discovered Galra troops converging on the border near Fort Hara. We’re sending forces to go deal with it.”

“A message has been sent to Altea to send reinforcements,” Allura cuts in.

“But we think that a group of long range fighters will do well to protect the fort,” the Queen continues, “We fear that the Galra aim to take over that piece of land. Lance, I know you don’t have much experience, but you are one of our best marksmen. I think you can do this.”

Lance bites on the corner of his lip and nods determinedly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“We need to go,” Allura says sharply. Lance’s father nods, and turns his stormy eyes back to Lance, who swallows.

“I can’t go with you,” Hunk murmurs from behind him. “Neither can Pidge, we’re not trained and they didn’t allow me. So Lance…please be careful.”

Lance nods and claps Hunk on the back. They’re rarely separated, and though he’s glad that Hunk will be out of danger, he can already feel a tremor of fear at that separation.

They lead Lance to his vehicle, where they have apparently stashed his weapons and armour. The sky is a deep, clouded gray, and Lance wonders if it’s setting the tone for the coming hours. Allura and Coran, who will also be attending the inevitable battle, go in separate cars, so that if anything should happen to one member of royalty, the other two should stay safe.

Lance envies that they have each other, and wishes that one of his family members could go with him (but he knows and accepts they can’t and instead, focuses on steeling his mind for the task at hand).

Fort Hara is a fort stationed at the borders of Márea and Altea, and Márea and territory that is practically Galra. It’s a small fort, but the villages near there are important for agriculture, and if the Galra manage to destroy or take over them, it would be a massive blow to Márea.

The ride to the fort is bumpy and unpleasant, and by the time they arrive, the tension in Lance’s blood is so strong that he can’t stop shaking his leg, up and down, up and down, at a rate too fast to be healthy.

As soon as he steps out of his vehicle, he hears the patter of footsteps and repetative thumps of hooves against the ground. He’s herded by the crowd into the fort- its front entrance arches high above his head, but unlike the palace, it’s cold and stern, the walls glaring down at them like they know what’s coming.

“Alright,” says a general that Lance only half-recognizes. “Our plan is simple. The Galra are approaching with alarming speed. The cavalry will go first, from the east side.”

The cavalry leaders nod. With a shock, Lance sees Keith, standing out in his Altean colours, gripping his sheathed sword tightly in his first. Pushing away the anxiety that spikes in his chest, Lance glances back at the general.

“The foot soldiers will come in the second wave, from the west side.”

The foot soldiers’ leaders let out noises of acknowledgement.

“Finally, the archers will be positioned at the north wall, shooting down into the incoming battalions from above.” The general turns and his piercing eyes meet Lance’s. “That means you, Your Highness.”

Lance swallows as the eyes of everyone in the room turn to meet his. He can feel Keith’s dark gaze and forces himself not to look at him.

“I understand,” Lance replies steadily.

“Very well.” The general claps his hands together. “Then, everyone. To your positions!”

The crowd dissipates, the room filling with the thunder of boots. Lance turns to leave, when someone grabs onto his arm and beckons his attention.

“Keith?”

“I thought you didn’t have experience with battle,” Keith says tightly.

Lance raises his eyebrows. “Who told you that?”

“It’s dangerous,” Keith continues, as if he hasn’t heard the question.

“I’m aware of that,” Lance answers in a serious voice. “But I need to, Keith, you know this as much as I do.”

Keith nods. “I know. But just…” He pauses, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Be careful, okay?”

Lance is at a loss for words, so he presses his lips together and nods mutely.

Without another word, Keith lets go, and they turn away from each other, heading towards their positions with grim, determined faces.

Lance grabs his weapons and dons his armour with speed, and soon, he is rushing with the rest of the archers up the north wall. The north wall is built so that they can climb up on top of it, and crouch or even walk comfortably, with borders of gray brick that prevent them from tumbling off the edge. Lance takes position in the center, trying to mask his nervousness. Around him, the archers murmur, with unease infiltrating their voices.

“It doesn’t look good,” a girl next to Lance says under their breath.

“What’s your opinion on the situation?” he asks, and she jumps. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Well.” She fiddles with her fingers and then looks up at him with a determined expression. “We’re kind of unprepared, aren’t we? I can’t pretend that our army is the best, and the Alteans will only arrive after the battle has started. The cavalry and we don’t even have real leaders. The highest ranking person in the cavalry is that Altean knight.”

Her voice drops into a hushed whisper. “And I don’t mean to sound rude, Your Highness, but rumor has it that he’s reckless in battle.”

Lance frowns considering. Granted, he doesn’t know Keith that well, and the latter seems skilled in battle. Then again, Keith harbors a temper, and yes, Lance can see Keith easily flying off the handle if someone were to test him in battle. He does seem like the strike first, ask questions sort of person.

Still.

“I understand your concerns,” Lance reasons. “But Ke- Sir Kogane is quite skilled. And he is not alone- there are Márean captains that should balance him out.”

“As for our own leadership,” Lance adds, voice dropping into a more serious tone. “I realize that we’re not in our best form. But I hope you all can trust in me to keep control.”

Truth be told, Lance doesn’t know if he can trust in himself. But he has to give his soldiers that faith, that assurance that they have someone to fall back on, and if Lance needs to step up to the role, then he will leap at the opportunity.

“We do trust you,” she says with a small smile, and her eyes brighten. Lance feels a shock of determination, and gives her what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

“What’s your name?” he asks casually.

“Nyma,” she answers with a sort of cool confidence, and Lance feels like maybe, under different circumstances, he may have developed feelings for her, but now, he turns his attention back to the battlefield, where sure enough, a dark smudge starts to spread down from the horizon, the rhythmic tramping of a march thundering through the ground like beats of a drum.

His heart thuds in his throat. _This is it._

“I know things look bleak,” Lance says, and it comes out louder than he intended. It captures the attention of quite a few people around him, and they turn to watch him, making his heartbeat skip.

“But we need to do what we need to do. The Galra cannot have access to this land, or this fort. Our kingdom depends on our victory, and we must to everything in our power to win this battle.” Lance takes a deep breath. “Even if the odds are not in our favour, fight with everything you have. The Galra have never felt the wrath of an underdog like Márea.”

Around him, the archers’ faces seem to lift, shining with something that may be new hope. Lance feels a glow in his chest.

“Let’s show them the true power of Márea!” Nyma cheers.

Lance grins, and thrusts his bow into the air. “For Márea!” he calls.

“For Márea!” The archers echo back, and a thrill shoots through Lance’s heart.

They get ready, bows poised, as the inky gray of the Galra approaches, ever closer, rumbling down the plains and likely trampling everything in their path.

Soon, the battle cries become apparent, and Lance lets out a cry of: “Fire!”

Then, their arrows arc through the air, skimming through the wind with deadly precision, and they blink out of sight, but the archers know that they’ve hit their mark because some Galra collapse to the ground.

In the next instant, the cavalry is off, thundering towards the Galra in a wave of blue. Lance can’t see Keith from here, of course he can’t, and he has no time to dwell on it anyway because the archers send out another wave of arrows and Lance feels a flash of satisfaction when his arrow wedges itself into a Galra’s chest.

Around them, on the ground, the battle rages on. Lance knows not to pay too close attention, because the fight is violent and he fears seeing something that will make his gut twist painfully.

They continue to shoot, steady and uninterrupted, but the Galra just don’t seem to weaken. If anything, their forces fill up the land, turning everything gray, and Lance swears he can hear their snarls from up here.

“Where are the Alteans?” he hisses, firing another shot. The Galra are getting closer, and he can see his targets more clearly, allowing for more accurate shots.

“Apparently,” Nyma says next to him. She pauses to take out another Galra. “The Galran Prince is here.”

“What?” Lance says through gritted teeth. “Who? Prince Lotor?”

Nyma nods. “I have heard that Sir Kogane is going to face him now. I overheard a messenger just now…”

“Prince Lotor?” Lance repeats. An  ominous feeling shudders through his body, and Lance stands up. “I have to go.”

“What?” Nyma looks up at him, startled.

“I need to attend to something,” he says, louder, and the other archers regard him with wide eyes. “I have something to take care of on the battlefield. However, you still have a job to do, and I trust you to do it well. Defend Márea. Remember to aim for those closest to the walls, and watch the entrances. There are sure to be Galra who try to get around the wall, so watch the corners.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they say in unison, and Lance nods once.

He rushes off the wall, down to the ground floor where a general and a few messengers wait to transfer news between the different leaders in this battle.

“I need a horse,” Lance pants.

The general gives him an appraising look. “Why, Your Highness? You’re meant to-”

“I know,” Lance interrupts. He doesn’t have time for formalities. “But I have to go out there.”

The general raises his eyebrow. “You are not ready.”

“I am,” Lance insists. “I know not to take unnecessary risks. But I have a feeling that I need to be there. Also,” he adds, as the general goes to open his mouth again. “This isn’t a debate.”

With a disgruntled expression, the general says, “Very well.” He beckons over a helper, who leads Lance over to a white horse. Lance mounts it, thanks the helper, and sets off without another word.

It’s not like him to trust his instincts so thoroughly and recklessly, but he remembers what Juliana had once said about Prince Lotor.

“He’s vile, and manipulative,” she had told Lance with distaste. “A capable fighter, but his best weapon is his words. He can goad the best warriors to their deaths.”

And, well, Keith can very easily be goaded into something.

At first, he worries that he will not be able to find Keith in time, but then realizes that he does not need to look for Keith. There is something like a chariot, ugly purple and red, cutting its way through the battlefield, a flag emblazoned with the Galra insignia rising with a ruthless pride.  

Lance stiffens his jaw and heads towards the chariot. He knows that he will find Prince Lotor there, and Lance, one hand on his horse’s reins, fiddles with the blaster he now carries on his hip, wondering if he would be lucky enough to take a shot. _Anything to get there before Keith,_ he thinks, because he can’t see Keith anywhere and hopes that means that Keith hasn’t arrived yet.

“Lance?” comes a voice behind him, and if Lance were not on a horse, he would have whirled around. Instead, he turns, feeling like that time he was caught sneaking into the castle kitchens for a late night snack with Pidge.

“Keith?” Lance asks, and refrains from asking a question such as ‘what are you doing here?’.

“What are you doing here?” Keith bites, with a stressed crack in his voice on the word ‘doing’. If circumstances were different, if they weren’t surrounded by flying swords and enemy soldiers, Lance would have pointed it out.

“Prince Lotor,” Lance says as an explanation. “And don’t tell me to go back, I’m here now and I’m here to fight. What’s your plan?”

“My plan,” Keith repeats. “I was going to challenge him to a fight and put an end to this battle.”

“That’s it?” Lance hisses. His horse clops to the side and Lance grips the reins, keeping his eyes out for incoming danger.

His head whips around as a noise erupts from meters away. The chariot rolls, and the soldiers, locked in fighting, part naturally around it, the Galra hollering it what sounds like anticipated victory.

Standing at the front of the chariot, white hair flowing behind him, is Prince Lotor. His eyes gleam cruelly, and within them, Lance can see everything his sister said about him. He has a long, black sword at his side, and his gaze sweeps the battlefield like a predator searching for prey.

Lance shudders, but resolve hardens like a diamond inside him.

“I’m going after him,” Keith says under his breath.

Lance grabs onto Keith’s arm, forcing him to stay in place.

“Are you out of your mind?” Lance demands, “You can’t face him by yourself!”

“Then what do you propose?” Keith fires back.

“I’ll call out to him, challenge him to a fight,” Lance suggests. “Apparently, he likes to talk, so I should be able to stall him. When he tries to go for me, you can jump in, fight him with your sword.”

Keith scowls. “And if he gets to you before I can stop him?”

“Don’t let him,” Lance says, “Once you two are engaged in the fight, I can help out. I can hold my own in a sword fight.”

“You and what sword?” Keith asks.

Lance sighs. “Keith. I come prepared.” He pats the sword that hangs opposite of his gun. It’s thinner, and shorter than Keith’s, but it’s what Lance is used to, and he refuses to let Keith sit aside and handle this himself. Keith would throw himself into the fight without second thought and Lance can’t imagine him coming out of this battle without lasting scars.

“Look, my plan will work. It’s better than yours, at any rate,” Lance points out.

Keith glares. “Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

“This way will _work_. Just, wait aside-” Lord knew that waiting aside was not Keith’s strong point, but Lance prayed that Keith would restrain himself. “-and when Lotor inevitably charges, you can take over.”

Keith nods, and without another word, Lance urges his horse forward, towards Lotor’s chariot. He tries to pretend like his heart isn’t in his throat, and lifts his chin.

“Hey! Lotor!” Lance calls at the top of his lungs, over the clamor of the surrounding battle. “Look at me, fool!”

And Lotor turns to look at him. Lance hates him being up on that chariot, the way Lotor is on higher ground and can look down at Lance. Their eyes connect, and Lance puts every ounce of fury on behalf of his kingdom in his gaze.

“Prince Lance of Márea,” Lotor says in an oily voice. “How fitting it is that I see you here.”

Lance keeps a good distance between himself and Lotor, close enough that they can speak but not so close that Lotor could reach him easily if he decided to jump out of the chariot. Seemingly sensing a disturbance, the fighting soldiers move away from them, forming a circle around the two princes like a halo.

“You’ve invaded our land, Lotor,” Lance says coldly. “Perhaps we should skip the formalities and get to the part where I best you.”

“Shame,” Lotor drawls. “I was thinking of inviting you for tea.”

“It’d be filled with rat poison,” Lance retorts. “Get down here and face me.”

“Face _you_ ?” Lotor’s voice takes a mocking edge, and he grins sharply, thin-lipped mouth stretching over pearly white teeth. “You truly thing that you, Prince Lance, are a worthy opponent for _me_? You could not win a fight against a Galran child.”

Lance doesn’t waver, and he tries not to let the comment sting. “You can play up your power all you want, Lotor,” he says in a cool voice. “But you have yet to prove anything.”

Lotor grabs the hilt of his black sword and weighs it in his hand, looking at it consideringly. Then, his eyes snap back to Lance. “Well, then, I should give the people what they want.”

Swift as a viper, Lotor darts out of his chariot, in a flash of pale hair and gray armor. He moves fast, faster than Lance could ever have anticipated, and Lance’s horse rears back-

Something flashes out of the corner of Lance’s eye, and Keith is jumping in, sword clanging against Lotor’s blade, sending sparks flying. Keith pushes back and they jostle for power, snarling in each other’s faces. Then Keith, in a fluid move, whirls to the side, and they’re off, dancing around each other with rage in their eyes and blades slicing the air around them.

Lance snaps out of his shock and slides off his horse, unsheathing his own sword. Keith is holding his own, but Lotor is bigger and clearly stronger than Keith, and Lance is sure that any moment now, Keith’s strikes will fail.

Keith is faster than Lotor. He twirls away faster than Lotor can land a heavy blow, ducks under Lotor’s blade with a reckless abandon as the sword nearly slices off his hair. He strikes his sword against the back of Lotor’s knee and Lotor stumbles forward, and Lance thinks _,this is it,_ before straightens up and turns on Keith with a growl.

Lance rushes forward, channeling all his mental energy into the memories of swordfight class, raises his sword, and brings it down on Lotor’s neck.

It’s not a perfect strike. It glances of a piece of armor with a screech, but leaves a trail of bright red in its wake, turning Lotor away from Keith and onto Lance with a shout of pain.

Lance doesn’t cower under Lotor’s gaze, but that might have been a smart move, because now Lotor slashes his blade at Lance and if Lance had not jumped back, it would have hit his side instead of the armor on his leg. The force is enough to make Lance stumble, and Lotor sweeps Lance’s legs from out under him, sending him sprawling. Lotor raises his sword, but before Lance has time to squeeze his eyes shut, Keith was striking his sword against Lotor’s arm, causing Lotor to howl and move away from Lance.

By the time Lance gets to his feet, Keith and Lotor are at it again, striking and parrying in a sickening motley of moves. Keith is pushing Lotor back, strike, parry, strike, parry, and he raises his sword with both arms, about to connect it to an exposed bit of Lotor’s midsection-

Lotor takes that brief moment to plunge his sword into Keith’s abdomen.

Keith lets out a scream that Lance will never forget, not in three decades when Lance might be old and wrinkled and losing his memory. He drops the sword and doubles over, hands enclosed over the wound.

Lance sees Lotor readying his sword, and his vision goes red. The next instant, he’s in front of Lotor, blocking him from Keith with their swords fiercely locked together.  

Lotor doesn’t expect that, because his eyes fly open, and with that, Lance pushes, hard enough that Lotor stumbles backwards. Lance doesn’t stop; he flies forward and strikes, again, and again, and again, until Lotor is panting and they are far away enough from Keith that Lance can breathe again.

“Soldiers!” Lotor roars, “To me!”

Lance understands what Lotor’s plan is a moment too late, when the Galra soldiers start to converge onto them. He moves backwards, gripping his sword and making a frustrated noise when he has to slice at a random Galra.

“Lance,” Keith’s ragged voice says. Lance nearly jumps.

“Keith,” Lance croaks, and then they are pushed, back to back, by the wave of oncoming Galra, moving in a circle, hacking at the practically impenetrable wall of gray armour. Lance finds it a small miracle that they are alive right now; he sheathes his sword, pulls his blaster (an Altean made laser one, not the traditional bullet guns that ricochet) and begins to shoot at the Galra with a, _pew, pew, pew_ _._

“Are you hurt?” Lance asks, before blasting through the armor of a particularly tough looking Galra.

“It’s fine,” Keith says breathlessly. “Not that deep.”

Somehow, Lance doesn’t believe him, but he can’t dwell on it, because the Galra press closer and there are _just too many._

Then, a distant rumble fills the air. Lance barely registers it at first, assuming it to be part of the already-fighting Galra and Máreans, but Keith gasps.

“Altean reinforcements,” he says with a choked sort of relief, and dimly, Lance thinks, _Ah. Help is here._

They continue to fight, but something must be occurring on other parts of the battlefield, because gradually, the Galra stop pressing so close, and through the gaps in their helmets Lance can see their expressions grow nervous. They glance at a spot out of Lance’s field of vision, and then, with a shock, Lance realizes that he can no longer see Lotor’s white hair or ugly chariot.

The Galra seem to be making this observation, too, and then, the battlefield, once a mix of Galran gray-purple and Márean blue, is now flooded with the white of Altean armour, and they press against the Galran forces, so intense that the Galra start to pull away. In time, they flee entirely, until only the most stubborn Galra remain; by that time, there are enough opposing soldiers to quickly cut them down.

Lance realizes that his hand is shaking from the tight grip he’s had on his blaster, but he can’t bring himself to pocket it. He’s vaguely aware that the Galra have actually gone, and that _they’ve won_ _,_ but despite that knowledge, something is off.

It doesn’t hit Lance until Keith is crumpling to the floor with a groan, sword skittering out of his hand.

“Keith!” Lance cries, falling to his knees. Keith has his eyes half-open, and he’s half-curled into himself, fingers twitching against his abdomen.

When Lance extracts Keith’s hands from the wound, he sees the gash: long, dark red, and _deep_ , cutting from his Keith’s hip to the bottom of his ribs. Keith’s entire side is soaked in blood, and the dark liquid starts to pool around his body until it stains Lance’s knees.

“Keith,” Lance repeats, because he can’t say anything else, Keith isn’t even conscious, and Lance’s hands don’t stop _shaking_ _,_ he’s afraid to touch Keith and hurt him even more, he’s afraid to leave Keith here untreated-

“Your Highness!”

Lance turns numbly, and he’s met with the sight of two people, dressed in white suits and light armour. A stitched over their chests show that they are medics, and they run towards Lance with a stretcher. They look Altean, and Lance doesn’t recognize them, but he moves back from Keith as they approach him with earnest faces.

“Your Highness, are you-” They catch sight of Keith, and their faces immediately shift. “Ah. Let’s take him to the medical tent promptly.”

They begin to move Keith onto the stretcher, and Lance wants to tell them to be careful but he doesn’t because he knows that they are experts. Instead, he doesn’t take his eyes off Keith, and only gets to his feet when they stand up.

“You can’t come with us, Your Highness, we’re headed to a different tent,” one of the medics tells him. “But there are medical attention tents set up east of the fort, not far from here, I’m sure you would-”

“It’s fine,” he tells him. His voice sounds flat and exhausted. “Other people need it more than I do, I’m just a bit scratched up.”

“Still-”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. He looks at Keith, still bleeding out over the stretcher. A dull flash of panic lights up inside him. “Take care of him.”

They appear surprised at his words, but nod. Then, the next instant, they are gone, weaving their way through the hordes of soldiers, leaving Lance behind with his thoughts.

 

Lance doesn’t see Keith for two days.

He has the option to return to the capital, but chooses to stay at the fort with the rest of the injured. This earns him strange looks from the surrounding generals, but Lance doesn’t care, and instead retreats to his room, where he spends most of his time lying on his bed in his blue silken gown with his whirling mind.

In the afternoon of the third day, a knock comes on his door.

Lance is out of bed and ready to answer it in a heartbeat, and his pulse quickens, hoping that the news is good (hoping that Keith is awake and alive and ready to recover).,

“Hi!” he says with false-cheeriness.

“Prince Lance,” the attendant says in a flat voice. “Princess Allura sent you a message.”

Something twinges in Lance’s just. “What was it?”

“She says she wants to meet with you,” the attendant says. “She did not disclose anything else.”

Lance tries not to feel the bitter disappointment that floods through his veins. “Ah. Alright. Where can I find her?”

“Tent 2, Your Highness. It’s a private tent for royalty.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Lance nods, before retreating back into the room and digging through his closet for something that isn’t nightclothes to wear.

He half-runs out to the east grounds of the fort, where a large portion of the tents have been pitched. They are large and off-white, covering the ground like ghosts, but between them weave an endless number of medics and messengers like worker ants.

The private tents are slightly larger than the regular ones, lined up closest to the castle. Lance personally finds it unfair that royalty get better tents than the soldiers to risked their lives on behalf of the kingdoms, but at least he can find them more easily.

He hesitates before entering Tent 2, but there is no way to knock, so he swallows his nervousness and ducks inside.

He registers Allura, sitting on a chair by the nightstand, but his eyes are immediately drawn to the figure laying on the bed, shirtless and torso wrapped in bandages.

“Keith,” he breathes.

“Lance,” Allura says gently.

He turns to her, but his eyes don’t leave Keith. “Is he okay?”

“Lance,” she says quietly. “Please sit down.” She nods at the chair near the bed, but Lance doesn’t budge.

“Allura, please.”

“He’ll be fine.” She nods at the chair again. “Please, sit. I have to speak to you.”

Lance sits. His eyes flicker between Keith’s still body and Allura’s serious face.

“Are we going to talk about the marriage?” he asks. “Allura, I can’t-”

“Keith told me about your concerns,” Allura said, “Well, vaguely. If you told him anything more than what he told me, then he protected your secrets well.”

“What did he say?” Lance asks. His voice wavers, and Lance hates it.

Allura waves a hand in the air. “Merely that you were unsure of what role you would play following the marriage.”

“And?” Lance asks.

“And, well.” Allura shifts, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “Word has it that you were exceptionally brave during the battle.”

Lance furrows his brows. “What? I wasn’t…”

“Lance,” Allura says, her voice tinted with amusement. “Please, let me say my piece.”

Lance falls into a rather grouchy silence, but listens.

“They say you commanded the archers and gave them motivation to fight,” Allura lists, “They say you strategized with Keith to take down Lotor, and that you fought admirably.”

“Who’s they?” Lance asks skeptically.

Allura smiles softly. “For the first thing, a rather charming archer known as Nyma.” Allura’s eyes twinkle when she says Nyma’s name, and Lance smirks in spite of himself. “As for the other…Keith told me.”

“He spoke to you?” Lance can hardly believe his ears.

Allura nods. “He was awake for a short period of time, yesterday. He’s been in slumber ever since, but yes, we did talk. You bravely commanded this battle.”

Lance feels his face warm, and rubs the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say I commanded anyone. I merely…stepped up to the role of prince.”

Allura looks happy in his answer, which Lance cannot decipher. “And you will continue being their prince, Lance. Even after the marriage. But,” she says, as Lance opens his mouth to speak. “I can offer you a greater role. You will not be lost to Márea- in fact, you could work as a strategist for us, with proper training. You could help coordinate the alliance. Not to mention,” she adds, “We could use your aim in battle.”

“I…yes, that sounds like a good plan,” Lance says, stumbling over his words. “If my parents approve…”

“They will.” Allura then looks mildly uncomfortable, and glances away for a moment before looking back at Lance with a determined expression. “I never intended to take away from your role as Márea’s prince. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.”

Lance feels a strange pressure in his chest and he nods, unable to form comprehendible words.

“Also…” Now, she looks unsure, and tugs on a piece of her hair. “I’m not sure if I should be saying this, actually, but Keith had mentioned that he wanted to tell you something.” She looks at him with serious eyes. “When he does, I advise you to listen. That is all.”

Lance blinks. “Okay?” he says uncertainly, not sure what she’s talking about.

A noise comes from the bed, and Lance realizes that it was Keith, whose eyelids are just now starting to flutter.

“I’ll be off,” Allura says. “I shall see you later, Lance.”

She exits the tent quietly, and Lance turns his attention back to Keith.

Keith legs shift beneath the bed covers, and then, although his eyes are still closed, his expression winces. Lance leans forward before stopping himself.

“Keith?” he whispers.

Keith’s eyes flutter once more, and then he blinks and squints. Slowly, he turns his head in Lance’s direction, and their eyes meet.

“Hey,” Lance says, “How are you feeling?”

Keith looks like he’s struggling for words, and a moment later croaks out, “Fine.”

“Fine, he says,” Lance scoffs. He scoots his seat closer to the bed. “Are you truly?”

“I’m alive,” Keith says in that same hoarse voice. They fall silent.

“You scared me so much,” Lance confesses. “So, so much. I thought you were going to die, Keith.”

Keith makes an attempt to move his arm and winces. “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t apologize,” Lance says, “Oh, my God, Keith, you told me that it wasn’t that deep. You should have seen yourself, you were-” Lance’s throat chokes up and he breaks off. He fists his hands and presses them against his forehead, willing his mind to compose itself.

“Lance.” Keith’s breath hitches. One hand still pressed against his forehead, Lance lets his other hand roam across the bed sheets until he can tangle his fingers with Keith’s. For a moment, he fears that Keith will draw back, but Keith’s fingers only twitch for a moment before returning the pressure.

“Lance, I have to tell you something,” Keith says in a hurried rush.

“Allura mentioned that,” Lance says.

“Allura always does like to meddle. It’s her way of helping out.” Keith lets out a breathless chuckle, which devolves into a pained moan. Lance’s grip on Keith’s hand gets a little too tight.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Lance practically begs.

“Listen,” Keith says heavily. “Please, Lance, promise me…promise me that you will judge me by my actions rather than what I tell you.”

“Keith, that scares me,” Lance whispers in response. “Of course I won’t judge you for…whatever it is. Unless you killed someone in cold blood, which, Keith, I don’t think you’d do that.”

Keith licks his lips and stares up at the canvas of the tent. “No. That’s not it.”

“Tell me.” Lance gives Keith’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

Keith’s eyes fall shut. “I wanted to tell you this before anything is finalized about…you know. You deserve to know the full truth.”

Lance doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he would. He promised to judge Keith by Keith’s actions, but he can only hold that promise if he knows what Keith is going to tell him.

“Lance, the rumours? They’re true.”

That was not even close to what Lance had expected. He was half-wondering if Keith would tell him that he had some secret lover back in Altea.

“What?” is all Lance can manage to say.

Keith drops Lance hand and brings his arms to his chest so quickly that Lance worries he will hurt himself. “It’s true,” he whispers. “I’m…well I know I’m part Galra. I don’t know how much, but-” He trails off. When he opens his eyes, they’re overly bright and Lance’s chest aches.

“I just thought you should know,” he said in a trembling voice.

Lance pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers and trains his eyes on the roof of the tent. He exhales slowly.

“Keith,” he says. “Keith, Keith.”

Keith faces him once more, looking vaguely like a wounded animal. Lance wants to reach out and grab Keith’s hand again, but he’s too far away.

“Who else knows about this?” Lance asks.

“Allura,” Keith says in a hushed tone. “She…she didn’t react well at first. That was justified; the Galra are coldblooded imperialists, of course she hates their bloodline. But she came around eventually. Coran and Matt know. I wouldn’t betray Altea. I wouldn’t betray Márea either.”

Lance nods. There’s a lump in his throat.

“Shiro knows, too.” Keith’s hands wipe at his eyes. “He’s my half-brother. But he’s not…he’s not…”

“Keith, please,” Lance says. He scrambles forward, until he’s kneeling at Keith’s bedside (something he would not have imagined doing a week ago). Slowly, he reaches forward and delicately grasps Keith’s hand. He’s met with little resistance, but Keith still does not look at him.

“Keith,” Lance says softly. “You’re still you. I don’t think any differently of you.”

Slowly, almost as if he’s shivering, Keith turns his head to Lance. His eyes are shielded, downcast, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Look,” Lance says, “I’m…startled, I admit that. It wasn’t what I expected and…” He encloses Keith’s hand in both of his own. “I understand why you’re distressed. But I will not judge you for it- you’re Keith. As much as you infuriate me sometimes, I would never hold something like this against you.” Lance smiles crookedly.

“Thank you,” Keith says quietly. Lance wonders if he’s imagining how Keith’s hand shakes in his grip.

“There’s nothing to thank,” Lance says simply.

“You fought well,” Keith continues. He’s looking at Lance now, and Lance realizes how close they are, with Lance’s chin resting on the edge of Keith’s bed and Keith still lying on his pillow. “It was an honour to fight besides you, Lance.”

“You were good, too.” Lance smirks, and when Keith raises an eyebrow, it dissolves into a genuine (maybe almost soft) smile. “We are a good team.”

Keith’s eyes brighten, just for a moment, before going half-lidded and then closing completely. His head moves back so he’s facing the roof of the tent; for a moment, Lance worries that he has passed out again, but when his breath comes in a soft, steady rhythm, Lance realizes that he has fallen asleep.

Lance brushes Keith’s bangs away from his eyes, and quietly exits the tent.

 

“Lance, I’m sorry, but can you stop fidgeting, I’m trying to fix your tie,” Hunk hisses.

“Sorry,” Lance mutters. Hunk reaches over and flicks Lance between the eyes.

“Ow! I should have you beheaded for treason.”

“You should really stop saying that, even if you actually wanted to, it would never hold up in court,” Pidge drawls.

“Lance,” Hunk says, his voice fondly exasperated. “There is truly nothing to worry about.”

“I’m getting engaged,” Lance hisses. “That is something people tend to be worried about, is it not?”

“It’s not like you have to propose,” Pidge points out helpfully.

“No, we’re merely securing the promise to marry each other, surrounded by some thirty Altean and Márean officials and my parents,” Lance says rather sarcastically. “Oh, Lord, what will we have to do there? What if they make us _kiss_?”

“The Altean and Márean negotiation panel will confirm the items of the treaty,” Hunk says calmly. “They will announce the terms of the marriage. You two will exchange engagement rings- engagement rings, not wedding rings, Lance.”

“Yes, I realize that, Hunk.”

“Then you two will sit down and wait until it is your turns to sign the treaty.”

Then, as an afterthought, Hunk adds, “You will have to kiss at your wedding, though.”

Lance only stops himself from groaning and throwing himself onto his bed because his stylists (and Hunk) have worked painstakingly to put together his outfit, and he does not want to wrinkle it.

“What’s the issue?” Pidge asks with a raise of her eyebrow. “I thought you liked him?”

Lance flounders. “Well, yes, but not- I don’t-” He feels his cheeks warm.

“You don’t need to put it in words.” Hunk pats Lance shoulder with faux sympathy. He looks at Pidge. “Lance _like_ -likes him.”

This time Lance _does_ groan and buries his face in his hands.

“And you haven’t made a move to woo him?” Pidge asks disbelievingly.

“Lance honestly doesn’t need to try,” Hunk tells Pidge. “You should see them when they’re together.”

“That is misinformation. Slander, if you will.” Lance glares at Hunk with no real heat. “There is not a chance that he possibly harbors feelings for me. No chance.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Hunk says lightly.

Pidge gives Lance a serious look. “Hunk is the most realistic person I know. And probably the most skeptical. If he says Keith likes you, he likes you.”

Lance leans forward until his head hits Hunk’s shoulder. “Ugh.”

“There, there.” Hunk pats Lance’s back. “If you wrinkle your clothes I’ll be forced to do something drastic.”

Lance straightens up and smooths down his coat, smiling innocently.

Hunk checks his watch and then frowns at Pidge. “We need to go.”

“No,” Lance whines.

Pidge nods, smiling. “Tell me how it goes!”

Hunk latches onto Lance’s wrist, pulling him out of his room. “See you later, Pidge.”

“Good luck, Lance!” Pidge says, waving. “I’ll be in the workshop if you need me.”

“I hate all of you,” Lance grumbles, and then calls over his shoulder. “Thanks, Pidge! I’ll find you after.”

Hunk leads him down to the meeting room- this time, a larger room with big windows that allow sunlight to filter in. They’re relatively early- less than half of the people have arrived already. The main tables are once again two curves that face each other, one side Márean, the other Altean. However, behind that is another row, higher up to allow for viewing, where some of the secondary officers will sit to observe the exchange.

Juliana and Ramira are here already, and they smile at Lance when he enters, Ramira giving him a thumbs up for encouragement. Hunk is allowed to sit in on the meeting, but while Lance sits more to the middle on the main table, he sits directly behind Lance in the back row.

Matthew Holt is there, as is King Coran. About half of the secondary officers are seated. Lance shifts in his seat, nervously eager for them to start.

The door opens, and in enters Lance’s parents, along with the two older advisors who sat at the panel in the very first meeting. Following them is Allura, dressed in Altea’s royal colours, Sir Shirogane, with his usual serious, mature face, and then Keith.

Keith, like Lance, is dressed in a blue suit, but while Lance’s is royal blue, his is a dark navy. His hair is combed down neatly, and Lance pretends that his breath doesn’t catch as Keith’s gaze meets his.

Keith gives him a small smile before sidling off to his seat, and Lance does not blush and avert his eyes.

“Let’s call this final meeting into session,” Lance’s father calls, and they start.

The whole affair is rather boring, and Lance doesn’t manage to pay attention to all of it. It’s all very technical, and he’s proud of Juliana and Ramira for being so good at these things.

The finalization of the treaty goes on for a good hour, which Lance cannot understand, since they are quite literally reading from the drafted version, but he spends the hour listening to the Máreans and Alteans go back and forth over what seem like insignificant details.

“Very well,” Allura says, “Now that the main parts of the treaty has been confirmed, we shall move on to our next discussion. The marriage of Prince Lance of Márea and Sir Kogane of Altea.”

She stands up, holding a few leaves of paper in her hand, and declares, “With this treaty, Prince Lance and Sir Kogane will become citizens of both kingdoms, Altea and Márea. Sir Kogane will be given an honorary position on Márea’s defense panel. Prince Lance will be trained in military and defensive strategy, and work for the joint alliance of both kingdoms. Are there any disputes?”

Silence. Nobody disagrees.

“Upon securing the marriage- that is to say, after the wedding, Prince Lance will reside in Altea. Are there any objections?”

A few murmurs rise up from the secondary row, but nobody says anything to the Princess. She looks directly at Lance.

“Prince Lance, do you agree to these terms,” she says in an official voice, so similar to her regular speech and yet so vastly different. Lance is glad that he knows the less formal side of Allura, or he would be much more intimidated right now.

Everyone’s eyes snap to him, but he looks back at Allura steadily, ignoring the lump in his throat. “I agree.”

“If Márea is in need, of course both the Prince, and Sir Kogane, will be of service,” Allura continues, “This marriage will be a symbol of alliance between the two kingdoms, ending the long history of bickering and dispute. Are there any objections?”

Once again, no one objects. Allura looks satisfied.

“The arrangements for the wedding will be discussed later, amongst the royal families,” the Queen says, and Allura nods in agreement.

“To secure this part of the treaty,” King Coran speaks up. “We will have Prince Lance and Sir Kogane exchange engagement rings. Please, stand up.”

Lance obliges, and so does Keith. He hopes that he is not blushing as hard as he feels he is.

“Look dignified, Lance,” Ramira says under her breath.

“Right,” he answers. He straightens up, lifting his chin and attempting to look confident and calm.

They walk to the center of the room, which makes Lance feels like he’s on display for entertainment. Which, of course, is ridiculous, and this whole affair is merely political, but Lance wishes it didn’t have to be so public.

Lance and Keith standing facing each other. Lance sneaks a glance at Keith; he’s staring very hard at a spot over, and his cheeks are painted a shade of pale pink that makes Lance’s stomach flutter.

King Coran stands in front of them, and he opens a small, leather box. Inside it sits two rings, made of a pale, silvery metal.

One ring is engraved with the word: _Union_ _._ The other ring is engraved with Altean characters; Lance assumes that it carries the same meaning.

“Prince Lance, if you will.” King Coran nods.

Lance reaches out for the ring with the Altean engraving. He pictures about twenty different scenarios within half a second where he fumbles with the ring and drops it, but luckily, he picks it up safely and then turns to Keith.

Their eyes meet, and Keith bites the corner of his lip, before giving a slight nod and offering his right hand.

Gently, Lance takes hold of Keith’s hand, ignoring the way it feels like electricity is bolting into his skin at the points where they make contact, and slowly eases the ring onto Keith’s fourth finger.  Keith stares at it for a moment with wide eyes; King Coran clears his throat, and Keith jumps to take Lance’s ring.

Keith’s hands are rough against Lance’s skin, but his touch is gentle, and he puts the ring onto Lance’s finger before retracting his hands and blushing violently.

“And I declare this couple…engaged!” King Coran announces rather proudly.

Lance feels tingly, and his face is warm, but when he looks at Keith, Keith is smiling, so Lance smiles back and resists the urge to reach out and take Keith’s hand.

He mouths, “ _Meet me after._ _”_

“ _At the garden_ _,_ ” Keith mouths back.

When Lance goes to return to his seat, Hunk is beaming, and Lance blushes harder.

 

The garden is beautiful.

Now, when it is still morning but late enough in the day that the sun shines brightly overhead, the garden is bathed in a warm, buttery light, making the leaves shine emerald. The bushes are patterned with polka-dots of pink, white, and red flowers. A crystalline fountain sits in the center of the circle, spraying up glittery beads of water and refracting the sunlight.

Lance sits on a marble bench, waiting.  Near it is a rosebush, nearly trimmed and blossoming with petals of deep ruby.

He’s staring at it contemplatively, when he hears, “Hey.”

When he looks up, Keith is there. His black hair gleams in the light, and his dark pupils are haloed by flecks of brown and gold.

“Keith,” Lance greets softly. He scoots aside so that Keith can take a seat on the bench.

Keith does that, and tangles his fingers together, resting his arms on his thighs. They stare at each other contemplatively.

“So,” Keith says.

“I said I wanted to talk to you,” Lance says for him. “Yeah.”

Keith shifts, and his eyes flick down to the bench. His engagement band shines as if it is covered in diamonds in the sunlight. “Talk about what?” After a pause, he says, “We’re engaged now.”

“Am I allowed to call us fiancés, then?” Lance smirks.

Keith’s cheeks colour and vaguely resembles the roses. Lance’s stomach erupts into butterflies. Pidge’s words float across his mind: _If he says Keith likes you, he likes you._

Lance doesn’t want to let himself hope, but then again, when has he shied away from what he wants before?

“To be honest, the wedding is going to be a hassle for us,” Lance sighs. “I’ll get to look good, though.”

He’s nervous to see Keith’s reaction, both at the mention of the wedding and his joke, but Keith just snorts.

Then he says, “You probably will.”

Lance feels like his heart has been shot, if there’s a way for that to happen and feel good.

“Probably?” he says, mock offended, hoping his voice doesn’t sound strangled.

Keith actually _laughs_ this time. Lance’s stomach feels like one of those fizzy drinks his mother doesn’t let him drink too often because she says that they’re bad for his teeth.

“We’re going to have to kiss at our wedding,” Lance says conversationally.

Keith falls silent. When Lance turns to look at him, he’s staring very hard at the fountain, and his face has gone pink. Lance didn’t know until now that a person could blush so much.

“And?” Keith asks. He sounds breathless.

Lance clears his throat. “I don’t know,” he says, forcing himself to sound casual. “I don’t want to do it wrong on the big day. Maybe we should practice.”

He doesn’t miss Keith sharp, if quiet, intake of breath. He angles himself towards Keith and in a fluid move, catches Keith’s hand in his own.

Keith stiffens immediately, but Lance has come to expect that when touching Keith. As expected, after a moment, he relaxes, but his eyes remain wary.

“Should we?”

“It would make sure we’re prepared,” Lance says. He sounds much braver than he feels. “Unless…you don’t want to?” he finishes and braces himself for rejection.

Keith licks his lips and chews on the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes burn into Lance’s. “Maybe we should.”

“Oh?” Lance stutters.

“Maybe,” Keith says. They’re too close. Lance can probably count every dark eyelash that caresses Keith’s cheek.

“Maybe,” Lance says, so quietly that he’s surprised Keith can hear him.

“You should hurry up,” Keith breathes.

“O- okay, yeah.” Lance carefully places his fingers on Keith’s jaw, thumb stroking a section of skin gently. For someone who probably doesn’t moisturize, Keith’s skin is quite soft. Lance tilts his head to the side; his heart thumps in his chest, so loud that he wonders how Keith’s can’t hear it. “Wait, I’m trying to figure out… I mean, you’re completely sure, right? One hundred percent?”

“For the love of God, Lance,” Keith says exasperatedly, and he pinches Lance’s collar with two fingers, and leans closer.

When Keith’s lips brush against his, Lance feels a thousand butterflies erupt in his stomach, a thousand volts of electricity travel through his veins, a thousand stars dance behind his eyes. He presses closer, until Keith’s fingers are tangled in the front of his jacket and Lance’s hands cradle Keith’s face.

When they pull back, Lance lets out a sigh.

Keith gives him a panicked look. “Was that okay? Did I-”

“Keith, Keith.” Lance cuts him off. He lances his fingers through Keith’s, and smiles. “That was much too little for me to tell. We should try again.”

Keith peers at him suspiciously. “To be certain, you’re asking me to kiss you again.”

“Well,” Lance replies innocently. “I could kiss you this time.”

“I’ll bet you can’t,” Keith says, prodding Lance’s thigh.

Lance scowls. “Just you watch,” Lance says. He tucks a stray piece of Keith’s soft hair behind his ear, flutters his eyes shut, and then kisses him like he has nothing to lose. Then, they pull away, look at each other with soft eyes and grinning smiles, and they kiss again.

And again.

And again.

And again.  

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked the fic, feel free to leave kudos, a comment, or contact me via my tumblr
> 
> Please check out the amazing artists and their pieces for this fic:  
> cimderslla
> 
> I will add links to the other art as soon as it has been posted!


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